Queen of the Damned
by Yoshiyuki Ly
Summary: Sequel to Vertigo, includes Scowl & Sneer: Peace is but a shadow of death desperate to forget its painful past. Though we hope for promising years after shedding a thousand tears, yesterday's sorrow constantly nears. Eternity; damnation, faith or salvation? Hermione/Fleur, AU.
1. space dementia

_Scowl & Sneer_

_you make me sick._

_because I adore you so._

_**literally.**_

Possession at its finest~

_**i. **__space dementia_

_Sunday, October 15__th__, 2000; Department of Mysteries._

What did she tell you, Bellatrix…?

About Hermione.

About her thrall.

About the seeds.

"_Mmm…" Fleur continued to stroke her face thoughtfully, careful to not scratch herself, however appealing it may have been to do so, "I have thought of using the Granger girl to help me along with this plan. Hermione, yes.. Lucius, what is the status of the Repository Chamber in the Sorceress Memorial?"_

"_I have tampered with it just enough so that it will have no effect whatsoever on you should we ever fall," Lucius said proudly, glancing predatorily at Bellatrix as he did so. "However, you will be weakened considerably once inside... Should Delacour ever be faced with enough of an emotional upheaval even after being freed from the Chamber, you will be at risk for possible destruction.."_

"_Worry not about that, Lucius," said Fleur dismissively with a wave of her hand, blowing more purple haze in front of her face, "it cannot be helped. There must be risks taken and I am not coward enough to simply neglect such an opportunity."_

"_Exactly what do you have in mind for your thrall, my Lord?" Bellatrix asked earnestly._

"_Ahh…yes, yes.. Fleur's thrall… You see, she and _Hermione _have quite the lovely bond, with their relationship being most powerful. Despite it helping to break down Fleur's barriers, I admit that the feelings even overwhelm _me _sometimes.. It is most tragic. However, I can certainly use this to our advantage and plant…seeds.."_

"…'_seeds', my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, confused. Fleur chuckled and nodded, casting her eyes to the high, dark ceiling as she did._

"_Yes.. yes, oh yes… I will keep that part secret. A surprise, if you will, when it works. Hermione will be an excellent back-up for us once this happens. But, again, neither of us will be without our weaknesses… Unfortunately. And yet Fleur's thrall.. it has the power to seduce, to control, to ensnare the senses, the mind, the will… To possibly even freeze time, just as it preserves her beauty…"_

Walk you zombie, walk.

Walk down these aisles.

Walk through these orbs.

Walk among these tiles.

Walk, crippled, walk.

Walk for your Delamort.

Walk because you're dead.

"_Lord Delamort.." Bellatrix continued slowly. Fleur beamed approvingly and chuckled, "you must be certain that the…the _girl _and her friends are on her way. She will want to defeat you and have her woman back."_

"_For now," Fleur said simply. _

"_For now?" Lucius drawled. "Exactly what do you have in mind for her?"_

"_A Kiss of Death."_

"_You're going to kill her?" Bellatrix screeched. Fleur winced and shook her head._

"_Even if so, wouldn't you just _love _that, Bella..?" Fleur asked slowly. Bellatrix showed no sign of acknowledgment, and Lucius looked at her fearfully. "Hm? I asked you a question. _You, _my _loyal _follower. Or am I just talking to myself? I've grown tired of that over these past few months, you see. Speaking to Fleur who thought she was _above me, _who thought she could get away with not listening to me."_

You will listen to me.

You have only one chance.

You're not scared.

You can't die.

_Echo, footsteps, echo echo echo the sounds of your footsteps of desire to redeem yourself._

You're holding on.

You need to hold your ground; keep walking.

You need to keep leading the woman to her death.

Ignore her struggling, ignore her bleeding, ignore her curses at you – she can't kill you for you are already dead.

The cousin Lucius overlooked is the ace up my ripped, feathery sleeve.

"_It's.. rather funny, really," Fleur breathed, just audible enough to echo dangerously throughout the Atrium, "how attached I've grown to dear Hermione. She helped me, us.. Without her, I doubt Delamort would be speaking to you right now, holding onto your life in between her claws. It is true that love has the power to destroy me, but what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger. Hermione…she has done this for me. I owe her a great deal. _

"_And if it means submitting to Fleur's stronger will of making Hermione my Queen, then so be it. I do not have complete control over this woman's body, Bella. She is far stronger than I could have ever imagined. Hermione makes her stronger. Hermione will lead me to greatness. So, no, I do not want her killed. I wish to simply improve her. And to see you try to belittle her with your _jealousy… _Bella, Bella, Bella…I thought more of you.."_

You pathetic woman.

Pathetic, Bellatrix – _pathetic._

Jealousy lost your life.

Life lost your jealousy.

Live your lost jealousy and do this for me.

"_Do not lie to Lord Delamort," Fleur growled, finally taking the opportunity to dig her talons further without any patience for making Bellatrix suffer slowly. "You dare disrespect Hermione. You __**filthy **__woman. __**I **__am __the one with the fool-proof plan, even should I fail when Hermione arrives. You are of no use to me, doubting the woman Fleur loves. If you doubt Hermione, then you doubt me. If you are jealous of Hermione, then you are jealous of me. She and I will soon be one… Separate entities.. but still one, powerful, romantic being."_

_Bellatrix's eyes rolled to the back of her bleeding head, and Fleur shouted in disgust while she ejected the filth from her grip and immediately sent her flying into Lucius's pathetic form. The violet was growing in power, more and more and more, and Lucius pinched Bellatrix to get her to stop her pitiful drooling. Bellatrix and Lucius both watched feebly as Fleur extended an arm out to them, making her palm face them while she moved her body about to face them in profile. Her nostrils were flared, violet eyes were narrowed still, and her fingers were curled ever so slightly. _

"_I know you both doubt me," Fleur said loudly, "just as you doubt Hermione. I see it in your fear; I __**smell **__it in your doubt that I do not have complete control over Fleur. You doubt my actions, my decisions, my very being. You even doubt why I removed your Marks. Lucius, for you, it is because you disobeyed my orders. There is an entire __**city, **__a __**metropolis **__of living Veela in Diagon Alley that I'm choosing to let alone for now. Paris, Lucius. Paris! Despite the wonder that is Fleur, you failed me. And Bella, you dare insult Hermione with your wicked thoughts. I do not need followers. Hermione is all I need…"_

Hermione, not you.

Hermione, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…

Hermione needn't ever know about this. Not until the time is right.

Hermione is the one.

Hermione is the one.

Hermione _is, _you _are not. _

Hermione is under the woman's care.

Hermione will slowly be exposed to the agency for my seeds.

And once I have returned, naïve little Hermione will suck them right in.

_A powerful gust began to erupt behind the two ex-Death Eaters, blowing at them, towards Fleur, just as every bit of wind in the room did. Every single particle of sound, air, movement, light, emotion; it all gathered right at the centre of gravity that was Fleur's powerful hand. Lucius and Bellatrix could only cower on the ground, immobilised by the anger gathering high above their heads. The sounds in the room all melded into an amethyst black hole at Fleur's palm still pointing down at Bellatrix and Lucius; more and more did everything continue to gather at the centre, building in strength, in magnitude, in desire. _

_And then it all stopped. Fleur stopped gathering power. Any light in the room was gone except for the golden glow of Fleur's skin and feathers. Any sound that remained was from the gentle flap of her single wing. Any emotion that lingered still was the violet laser from Fleur's line of sight, burning Lucius and Bellatrix on the ground. Fleur merely smirked at them and shook her hair from her eye before speaking softly, but audibly enough for them to hear her as clear as crystal._

"_Love has given this to me. Such…sweet irony. I am a Sorceress; I can control time inadvertently, I can control emotions, but I cannot control Hermione. Not now, not ever…but she will stand by my side. And, depending on what I decide, perhaps I will be able to sit here and file my nails in peace. Hermione will come.. She will. But until then…"_  
_The slice of pained, fearful looks upon Lucius and Bellatrix's faces and the overwhelming pounding of their heartbeats in their chests were cut short and overwhelmed by a loud vortex of emerald, two screams, and three tinkling bells of sinister laughter._

That was when I killed you.

Don't you remember, Bellatrix? Your moment of glory…

You are an Inferi; soon she will be one, too.

Nothing lies in your way of fulfilling your duties.

You will be my follower no longer once the woman is dead.

I want her dead.

I want her immortal; freeze her beauty and blood and blonde to hypnotise Hermione. A _subtle hypnotism_, you pathetic woman – one to keep her loyal to Fleur. I want that hook in deep and I want it to stay.

I want her as my only follower; my only blood relative; the only one I can ever trust besides Hermione.

Drop down this pit hole; fall down, down, down in the darkness, drown in your own vertigo; drink the adrenaline and don't you dare drop the woman. Dance in the dust of darkness and don't you dare drop the woman. Keep dropping, dropping, dropping, drop drop drop _drop drop_ –

Stop.

Don't hit the ground.

Hover.

Glide up

Stand

And walk.

Walk her to the veil. Ignore the voices. Ignore the cries. Ignore the rage.

Shove her in.

Pull her out.

Let her writhe; watch the purple in her eyes as she tries to resist; watch her try. Watch the mist of her family and friends surround her, suck the life from her, make her scream and cry and agony.

Kill her. Kill her. Kill, kill, kill; surround her in the emerald of your envy.

The mist is her dead life.

Let her be.

Go inside the veil and stay there. She will summon you, and _everyone else, _once I have the strength to control her.

She will observe in the mean time.

_Observations – Patient: Hermione Jean Granger, Session 1398_

_Tuesday, August 3__rd__, 2002_

_She still hasn't made the decision to move out of her parents' home and into one of her own, or at least the Burrow. Sitting here in her room, at her desk, while she is lying on her bed and staring at the darkened ceiling will never get old, but she is aging, though it seems that she's aging far too much. She is twenty-two, I'm thirty, but it feels like she's so much older than me in terms of where we are in life. Sure I've been through a lot. So has Hermione. She reminds me of Fleur now that I'm taking the time to notice, watching her behind my spectacles. Spectacles that don't help with more than reading, might I add. Spectacles that can't do anything but help me to see her outline more clearly and try to decipher her body language._

_So long it's been, almost, since Fleur's been released from the Sorceress' Memorial. She used to have at least one visitor every single day for nearly fourteen hundred days. SM referred me to Mademoiselle Granger to keep watch on her; the government knew that she'd need therapy and someone to talk to throughout the entire ordeal. Still, the ordeal is over, and my cousin is doing just fine, but I haven't divulged any details to Hermione. She hasn't asked me about Fleur. _

_She knows Fleur is staying with me. She wants to see her, I know she does. Still, she airily changes the subject whenever I offer to have them meet. She confuses me, Hermione – the woman went to SM to simply watch the blizzard for a room that Fleur was in, every day, for four years straight. She brought gifts, she spoke quietly to her. She kept her promise of waiting for her. So now that no more waiting needs to be done, she's biding her time. Stalling; I understand why. Still, I just wish she wouldn't._

_She is stubborn, Hermione. Stubborn, sensitive, slightly senile, struggling with herself, still somehow sensible, short-tempered, spent… She still loves Fleur – this much I'm certain of. She and I have discussed Fleur, her feelings her uncensored fantasies her desires her longings passions wants needs. She keeps saying that she needs to apologise once more to Fleur. Sorry is a hard word for Hermione to even say casually, as are the following words – flower, rain, run, kiss, breathe, Hogwarts, Slytherin… _

_Still, Voldemort is a name that she says vehemently. She has a backbone now. She still has her pride. She still has her bravado. She's grown so much. Still, four years is a long time. So long for someone with a broken heart to keep on living, though I know she's tried to see Fleur through me because we look so much alike. She's said that though Fleur and I look like twins, almost, I don't share her eyes. Shared eyes are between Hermione and myself. Some funny coincidence, really. She'd laughed and said that maybe if she and Fleur ever had a daughter, that she'd look like me. _

_She still laughs and smiles with me; she's comfortable with me. She trusts me. She's said many times that I'm more of a best friend than just her Therapist. She thinks that everyone else has moved on with their lives and don't have room to understand why she feels so stagnant, though she is getting on just fine. Surplus isn't coming in for her because she quit her previous job a month ago. She lost her nerve the closer and closer it came for the time for Fleur to be released. So now she just lies in bed and I sit here, at 'work', while Fleur is at our home, presumably reading. Sometimes she'll lie there dejectedly, other times proudly, sometimes tiredly while she lulls herself to sleep by pining over Fleur or from me soothing her, telling her that Fleur will still be around once she's ready to see her._

_Still, I wonder about Hermione. She'll see Fleur once she's ready. Sometimes I wish I could help more, but she does loosen up considerably whenever I take her out for a few drinks in Paris with the others. Sometimes I wish I could play Cupid for them, but that's not my job. She'll muster up the courage on her own. So, until then, all I can do is sit here and let her gaze at me like I'm my cousin, though I know I'm not._

_Such a shame…_

_-Chanel Valentine Delacour._

This was also rueful Fleur who needed Hermione to aleeV her.

Identity seemed to revolve around one for her.

Hermione…

To love the one who gives her meaning, breathing and living was immensely, wholly incredible and incomparable to anything else. And yet _the world _just _had _to intervene and rip that security away from her.

_That _was the source of her true fury, her confusion and absolute **Pandemonium**– _not_ the manufactured one from the demented soul inside of her.

_July 1998; Repository Chamber, Sorceress Memorial._

_Hermione. Where is Hermione? Have I protected Hermione? Is she safe? Is she protected? I have to rely on scraps of hope that she's taken care of… Faint hues of effervescence, mild memories and a heart re-born for her… I can't do anything but…pray. Pray? Me? Praying… I can actually think clearly for the first time… My mind isn't coloured purple anymore. I can see the shades of brown and red and cream but I can't taste them. _

_I can't taste you. I can't hear you. I can't touch you. But I can see you… I almost feel as if the part of me that I've lost, the part of me that you love, is watching you. Watching you… Like I always have. _

_I always watched but could never get too close. Because of fear, because of obliviousness, because of…time barriers. Locked away, secret memories…tender feelings no one could ever know… Memories of longing, memories of feeling hurt by your scowl… I'd sneer or just not react at all to your non-verbal abuse, but I wonder sometimes… Hermione, I wonder if all along we were just duelling. You would always make the first move and I would never be provoked to react verbally._

_I'm sorry. I lost control when I shouldn't have and made myself vulnerable to him. But you were just so _inviting…_you didn't even have to say a word. I couldn't understand my odd craving to make sure you were protected that night. How many years has it been now…? I don't even know how long I've been in here… Will I be out today? Tomorrow? The next day? Day… _

_How are your days, Hermione? I can see them but at the same time I can't. The transmission is muddled… it's frustrating me to no end, or at least it is in theory. I've stopped feeling. The only thing I can feel is this ever-burning fire, warming me enough to keep me alive but burning my insides all at the same time – I burn for you, I freeze as I wait and melt when my patience is ripped to shreds. I've ripped your heart in ten thousand, haven't I? Just tell me if I have…_

_September 2000_

_Mirages in the blizzard; I can see you now that the Chamber is helping me suppress _him, _but that gluttonous part of me refuses to ever really leave… I can see you there, smiling, just under the blue gate that I'm crossing… Smiling because I'm pure again, because I'm back to the one and only one you love and because I'm free and happy. I'm seeing through the very vast, frozen expanse that's been what I've called eyes since I was nine. I've always had such a cold gaze; an arctic one that still somehow managed to burn you with rage, or jealousy, or love every time I looked at you. _

_I'm not supposed to be weak, but it is weakness in and of itself that I'm in here – I lost control. How am I supposed to get it back? By staying in here, doing nothing and everything all at the same time while I think and think and think and think and think about you? You, Gabrielle, our family, our friends, my life, your life… I feel like I've seen your life all before. Protecting you is completely natural. If I'm strong enough to protect you, it makes me feel like I can do anything; absolutely anything I set my mind to. I can't get out of here because I need to rid myself of half of who I used to be._

_But even if he never left me, you would still love me. I know you would. You would follow me across the universe and back and over and around again if it meant stopping somewhere in between and being able to share your love with me. I know you would…because I would do the same, and then some. What if I get out and nothing changes? What if I'm free again and yet I can't even remember what I do for hours on end, only to 'wake up' and find that you're angry with me? The first time you woke me up like that was healthy for our relationship, and yet…_

_And yet I don't want it to happen again. One of the things I'm afraid of is making you angry. If I ever make you angry again…I won't know what to do. It's going to end up happening, I know it will, but I still can't say that I'll be prepared for it. Maybe you're angry now because I was obviously angry with you that day... It wasn't _me _that hated you, though… I don't know. That doesn't even deserve to be an excuse._

_But shouldn't I hate you? I should hate you for being so selfless and kind and innocent. Well…_almost _innocent. I can't even think of any half-baked reasons for hating you. Even your faults are something that I admire, just because they're a part of you. They're hidden and interwoven so intricately with you, with what I love of you, _all _of you, and I couldn't pick them out with such vague, empty entities such as words even if I tried. Thinking for so long in between dreamless sleep is wonderful, but…speaking… I haven't tried it, and I'm afraid to._

_I feel demented and uninhibited and absolutely insane at the moment, all the time, never, today, yesterday, last year, the next century – where are my thoughts going and why am I letting them stray so simply? I have some need to fulfil, involving you, and yet I don't know what it is, I can't pin it down with words, and yet it's there. It's there it's there and I can see it so clearly despite this purple haze. My thrall is still permeating the sanctity of this Chamber; I feel it and I feel you, and yet I'm too afraid to open my eyes and see anything. Even if I keep my eyes closed, all I see is you. I see you in between this universe that is my stark, starless gaze that I wish I could make into reality. But what does that even mean…?_


	2. scherzo di notte

_glossing my lips over your body,  
hearing you shiver and sigh and shudder,  
memorising your every perfect imperfection -  
indescribable.  
this what I feel for you is powerful.  
warmth, ardour, zeal -  
you do this, give this; make this of me.  
so far, only in the sanctity of night, in my dreams._

_a joke? _just _a dream? _

_no. no...  
_

_**ii. **__scherzo di notte  
_

_February 2001_

_I doubt I'll ever be 'myself' again…whatever that even means. _

_Do I have an identity? Do I have a self? Or has it just been Voldemort, all along, even before that night in the Department of Mysteries? I'm scared that I'm right… I'm scared of being here, being away from you, not knowing where you are or how you're doing; you're probably scared and confused too. You're not sure if I still love you all because some half of me that's not even _me _treated you so horribly. I don't know who I am and I never did to begin with._

_Maybe I never existed in the first place. Not really. Not until you found me and made me think that I'm actually made of something; that I'm human. Does the absence of you turn me into someone I'm not? Does sleeping without your arms around me freeze me in places I never even knew I had? These places that make me human of my own accord are all beyond repair; I realise their absence every time I sneer at someone. I realise it every time I grow impatient with someone, think them below me, ignore them, berate them inwardly… And yet when I'm with you, when I have the prospect of seeing you again so near to me, I'm such a saint. _

_I protect the weak, speak up for the underprivileged, retain a sense of justice, I love everyone I come into contact with if they mean the world to you, nothing fazes me, I can think clearly… Your closeness does it to me – it turns me into someone I never knew I could be. Before I met you, what did I care about House rivalry, and actually socialising with people, namely your friends? Where did I grow such astounding patience for the people I actually loathed as deeply as the rest of the Slytherins did? I'd always been a Slytherin, true and true, but once a Gryffindor found its way to me and put a heart inside of me, I began to change. I began to function just like you do. I began to think like you, act like you, blink like you, love like you, _be _like you, Hermione… I imitated you because I was afraid you'd disapprove of my stoicism and nonchalant attitude to hide how much I hate everything and everyone except for you._

_But I knew that wasn't how things would work. I couldn't freeze off the rest of mankind just so you could be with me. You're so selfless and giving and self-sacrificing…I admire it so much because I wish to aspire to that, in your eyes, for you – not for anyone else. Voldemort is right… I don't have a self. I never did._  
_I have a you and a Voldemort. Fleur never existed – how can you love her? You either love yourself or Voldemort. The former is just vain and the latter is absolutely repulsive… _  
_You don't deserve to be madly in love with a nobody…_

_May 2002_

_Revenge._

_Revenge._

_Revenge, revenge, _revenge _I said…_

_You heard me._

_I'm tired of being confused and angry and ignorant of who I am._

_I'm absolutely sick of Hermione's suffering without me…_

_I have a self – I do exist and I exist solely to please you, because it's all I can do. It's all I can live for…as a distraction. A weak ray of hope, a meaning in life… To hold you and to actually _feel…_that is such a privilege. A privilege that I wish I could have once more…assuming you kept your promise. And yet…I feel something, besides this passion that's nearly ready to burn the whole world if it's caged for any longer._

_Agony, anguish, despair, near death – I feel it, but not all of it is coming from me. You're suffering; I can feel it stronger than ever now. How long has it been, Hermione? How long have I been in here? How long until I can run to you and make up for what you've been through?_

_Should I even do that, though? Shouldn't you just…move on? But you made a promise. I trust you to keep it, and yet…I don't even know who it is that you're so in love with to the point of keeping yourself in misery for so long. Indecision bothers me just as much as my fears do; I don't know who I am and yet I _know _more than anything and everything just who you are. I know you I know you I know you and yet I don't know myself… I never did… That denies everything I've worked for, everything I've stood for. It denies you…but you don't deserve that._

_Existence. The entire scope of _existence _is questioning the truth of the being that you love. And yet this same being has been tampered with and violated and maimed and possessed to death and cold and back – but you still want her. You're suffering with the very being of your lonely existence, you're miserable, you're tired of being without me… But none of this would have happened if…if…_

_None of this would have happened if nothing could happen except for us. If _we _were the only ones who existed, if _we _were the only ones who were alive enough to give the world an expression of our apathy, then you wouldn't be angry… If I had all the time in eternity and beyond to make up for this, to make up for who it is you love or don't love, and to protect you one last time, for the rest of endless time, then I would do it far past the best of my abilities… I can't go back in time and prevent this from happening, but I can make up for it…_

_You deserve…so much from me, Hermione. I do still hate everyone and everything but you. I do still hate everyone else who gets to smile while we can only scowl and sneer to the blizzard before us. I hate everyone who's moved on with their lives and forgotten about us and the bane of our existence. I hate that I don't know _who I am _and that I've lost myself so much that I keep having to question my existence. I aspire to you, but you already _are – _you deserve such praise for that. Such praise for already _being, _already _living, _and still becoming a self… and yet you're suffering along the way because I'm not there with you._

* * *

_Friday, August 17__th__, 2001_

_Dutifully she sat upon the floor next to the wall of ice late that night, watching, waiting, wishing for something to happen. Something. Melt. Sparkle. Shimmer a ray of silvery blonde that she still longed to see, touch, taste, even after so long. The waiting made her want more, desire more, need more; almost drool more of Fleur, Fleur, Fleur, Fleur… Desperation was interwoven with distrust, dismissal, disuse, dissonance, distaste with the world and why she'd let it plague her so; and this it continued to do while her erratic breaths cried out but the wall before her still told her no. No, Hermione. No, no, no._

_Crossed legs under sharp jeans were cold, feet inside of heeled boots were numb, as were her folded arms under a white blouse. Her hair was still darker. Of chocolate and mousse and a certain, almost sickening amount of care that Fleur could somehow see her and be impressed by the shade. Eyes were as sharp as her clothes, but they still held a frightening amount of apathy that no one could see except herself from her reflection and the one standing behind her, waiting patiently with arms crossed and a white lab coat._  
_Breaths seemed non-existent, blinking was not noticed, swallows, sighs, long nails digging in her skin in anticipation – Hermione could feel nothing but her thoughts cavorting about her, spattering memories within and mocking her with sounds and words and smiles and tears and shouts and screams. If anything was not lost upon her, it was how her heart still continued to burn, blaze, and be on fire for so long. Anyone else would have moved on long ago. Anyone who couldn't deal with the pain would have gone mad. But Hermione wasn't anyone else and Fleur was far too important to her to ever be forgotten with just a kiss from another, lesser, person. _

_It was hard. Sitting there. Sitting there for the fourth time, watching the bit of Fleur's jeans she could barely see through the blizzard. Sitting there, helpless to do anything, and it was Fleur's birthday. She knew that in exactly one year's time, they'd be able to celebrate together, be together, finally move on together. But her aching mind could only wonder if that was all just a fantasy now. Her mind that still afflicted her with the memory of Fleur not even sparing her but one glance before she was put away made her doubt everything. _  
_And yet this same mind of hers that was so famous, so revered, so talked about in the Wizarding World was still so confused. Her body that was still reacting to but the mere vestiges of Fleur's voice and touch and smile and scent was telling her that she was deeply, deeply in love – scarred, marred and barred by it, even. Logic, feelings; metaphysical, sexual; there were too many conflicting, merging, fighting thoughts and feelings. _

"_Hermione."_

"_Chanel…?"_

"_Say to me what you're thinking about."_

"_I'm just.. I wonder why there are so many things trying to attack my mind… Fleur didn't even…"_

"_She didn't look at you before she left."_

"_She didn't… Why didn't she, Chanel…? Why?"_

"_She can't be spoken for."_

"_I wish you could…"_

"_Surely you do."_

"_Please… Just tell me something… Anything."_

"_Sure…have you ever thought of the possibility that she was ashamed?"_

"_Ashamed?"_

"_Surely having so many eyes on her, even those practically looking through the walls from outside, I think any normal person would have lost their nerve. She didn't. So from what you've told me, she seems the type to revert to stoicism to hide her real feelings."_

"_Do you think she's angry with me…?"_

"_She is not, Hermione. She is not. So you need to start thinking the same thing."_

_Observations – Patient: Hermione Jean Granger, Session 4_

_Friday, July 17__th__, 1998_

_I ask Hermione to do some free association for me this evening. The only cue I give her is the colour purple. Firstly, her eyes go out of focus momentarily, only to refocus on her closet on the far side of the room. She points to it and says quite audibly that all of Fleur's things are in there, and then goes on to say that she believes Fleur's eyes are peering at her through the crack in the door. Other such instances happen thereafter, with Hermione pointing to the ceiling and noting that Fleur's natural glow was in the light bulb that is currently turned off. There is a slight feeling I have that she is attempting to suppress her real memories and is giving me other, roundabout answers._

_Also of the colour purple, Hermione recalls a dream she had a few nights prior – she was in a purple castle and her breaths were coming out as a purple vapour. It ought to have been cold, she says, but every part of her body except for her collar bone and above was covered in a tight black satin material. Satin, or silk, she says. Her skin was ivory coloured and her nails underneath the black material were extremely long and sharp. Like talons, she breathes out. She quickly diverts from this and notes to me that it's too bad I never got the chance to get to know Fleur very well, for she__ is_ _such a wonderful woman. Hermione then goes on to say that she makes a point to talk and think about Fleur in the present tense. _

_She then recalls having a favourite purple quill that she used to always write with until Ron told her it looked stupid in their Second Year. Fleur had glanced at her from the Slytherin side of the room during that Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, and they made eye contact. Hermione is not sure what her reaction was, but she laughs dryly and says she probably scowled while Fleur was looking generally passive, as always. She trails off, most interestingly, when she is about to give me details about the look in Fleur's eyes at the time. I recall hearing that Fleur's eyes had been purple when she transformed. _

_Hermione goes on to revert the subject back to Ron. I'm surprised by her bitter laughter as she tells me he's found a girl that he is interested in. She snorts and says that they all noticed her in Paris, in Diagon Alley, and Fred and George had teased the boy mercilessly, claiming he'll never have a chance. She is starting to resent her friends, she says. I try to refrain from asking why, and she luckily tells me that she feels isolated. She wants to get away, but she takes pride in visiting Fleur every evening before coming back home. _  
_There is an extremely long pause at this point, during which I hear Hermione struggling to keep from crying. She'd asked that I not face her during our sessions, and I obliged – I understand that it's probably difficult for me to be in the same room as her. _

* * *

Friday, August 9th, 2002 – Paris, Diagon Alley.

Gothic skyscrapers, magical luxurious cars of ivory and toffee and gold and coffee, impeccable stone streets covered with the footsteps of near perfect beings, chatter, bustle, sophistication, sunlight and life surrounded her. From a bird's eye view, the city of Paris was nothing short of miniature in any sense; it may have even been larger than the model itself. Magic had expanded buildings, placed passages that did not exist before, and _emotions _were what controlled the weather, the surroundings, the setting. The thralls of the collective beautiful entities inside controlled the climate, the _feel _of the city, peoples' moods. It helped give a façade of happiness to those that were tired, but the face could not be saved to those who longed to feel a specific thrall from a very specific woman.

Public. Public, public, public. The word the surrounding the reality of it all made her claustrophobic and she could not even fathom why she ordered the frappuccino on her table. Certainly it was a hot day out, but it was even hotter inside the restaurant for some reason. She'd become accustomed to her denim shorts stopping just below her knees, the black leather heeled boots, the thin fabric of her black lace shirt. She'd also grown accustomed to the way people stared at her, at her legs her neck her arms her face her _body _and just…her. Her, Hermione.

All of the Veela who gave her toothy smiles and nodded curtly to her still regarded her with respect. All of her friends whom she always recognised wherever she went, all of her acquaintances who knew of her sorrow but tried to lift them with greetings of 'Hello, dear!' – they didn't know what it was like. But they went on with their Utopic lives anyway because if they didn't, soon everyone would be infected with the seeds of apathy.

Despite the onlookers, she continued to sit at her table in peace, avoiding the drear of her day and instead focusing on the one before her who looked like he too could be faring a little better. Sympathy, pity and a strange need for a shoulder to lean on. Convenience, a matter of chance, and perchance only one degree of separation had been simmered just as they watched the last of Fleur four years ago. Or it may have just been Draco finally mustering the courage to tell Hermione exactly why he'd resented her so. When he appeared on her parents' doorstep some weeks after the ceremony, she'd been expecting him to sneer and make fun of her on account of Fleur not even looking at her before she'd left. It was natural instinct that made her anticipate this, and it was also natural courtesy that invited him into her home when all they could do was stare awkwardly at one another.

And this they continued to do, yet again. The company was comforting for Hermione, but she could always see bits of Fleur in Draco's eyes. The Slytherin, the ambition, the cunning, the hidden warmth, the damned _sneering _was always there, as a part of Draco, but as a part of Fleur too for having been so close to him. Draco was still a coward, no less and no more than Hermione – neither of them even spoke of Fleur or made any mention of her being in the very same city as them at that very moment. They didn't speak of their old friends, all of whom moved on; yet Hermione and Draco pointedly chose to ignore the truth that their friends had offered their continued condolence, and still continued to do so.

In fact, they both grumbled inwardly and exchanged unpleasant glances when the one who scheduled their gathering finally decided to arrive.

"'Afternoon, you lot," Ron said brightly while he took a seat at the mahogany table, on Hermione's right and Draco's left. When Hermione and Draco chose not to respond and instead took sips of their frappuccinos, Ron continued on, "Harry's still at practice – somethin' 'bout 'im 'n the Reserve Seeker needin' a lil' overtime. Not t'worry though, 'e'll be out in a jiff. Oi! Waiter! The usual!"

"Awfully polite, aren't we Ron?" Hermione grunted while the waiter nodded curtly to him. It was true that they all held a degree of respect among the Wizarding Community, _for the most part, _but Hermione thought the man was abusing his privileges, and thereafter mumbled about this while Draco nodded in agreement. Ron appeared not to have heard her.

"So anyway," Ron said with a wave of his hand. He finally noticed the unpleasant expressions upon his friends' faces and looked morbidly shocked. "Hey, what's the matter? Do I smell or somethin'? I didn't have time to shower—"

"Too much information, Weasley," Draco said with a grimace, sniffing and indeed noting that Ron had not showered. Ron shrugged and placed his elbows on the table while he stole a large gulp of Hermione's frappuccino.

"Eurgh! What is this?" Ron spluttered as Hermione snatched her drink back. Draco snorted his laughter back down his throat and shook his head.

"It's _cold coffee, _Ronald," Hermione said impatiently. "You don't even _drink _coffee for Merlin's sake. Why'd you take a drink of mine?" Ron only continued to gag until the waiter finally arrived with his drink. He quickly drowned half of the cup before the waiter could even return inside, and Hermione and Draco rolled their eyes at him.  
"Much better!" Ron smacked his lips and sighed richly while his friends continued to stare. "Harry ought to be here soon… Ah! Harry, mate, this way!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly while he took the ivory chair opposite Ron. He _politely _ordered his usual drink and sighed while he settled down in his seat. "Coach was livid when we told him we both had to leave."

"Please tell me you showered, Potter," Draco said evenly before sipping his frappuccino. Harry nodded curtly to him and Draco returned the gesture.

"Hey, 'n so what if he didn't? This is urgent business!" Ron said good-naturedly while he took a sip of his tea. "Harry 'n Ginny are gettin' married!"

"I haven't asked her yet," Harry sighed, shaking his head before smiling and taking his drink from the waiter. He sipped it thoughtfully, noticing the ever present contrast between Ron's beaming and Draco and Hermione's bored expressions.

"_Yet," _Ron pointed out. "Meaning you _will. _Hermione, what did Ginny say when you asked 'er?"

"She said she'd accept at the drop of a hat," Hermione sniffed before burying her face behind her cup. Ron beamed and made a cheerful gesture before shaking his head at Harry.

"See? Go'on, ask 'er! It'll be great! You two can be engaged 'n hopefully—"

"Hopefully you'll finally scrounge up the courage to ask that woman out?" Draco asked acidly. Ron snorted and rubbed the back of his head.

"Yeah, yeah so it's been years 'n I still don't even know 'er name. But hey, it'll be a good pickup line."

"'My best friend is marrying my sister and I want to follow their footsteps. You look like a good catch. Want to catch dinner some time?'"

"No! Damnit Malfoy. Who asked you anyway? I don't see a woman on your arm, either."

"Of course not, Weasley. I don't need a woman on my arm to make me feel better about myself."

"Bah!" Ron waved a hand in front of his face before downing the rest of his drink. "Anyway you lot, we goin' out tonight? I'm hopin' t'see that girl again…"

"She's _always there, _Ron," Harry said, "and you never even approach her. I wouldn't be surprised if she's married by now."

"Or just a lesbian," Hermione mumbled.

"Come again?" Ron asked.

"Nothing."

"Oh." Ron shrugged and rubbed his hands together. "So how 'bout it? Tonight at nine, meet up at Malfoy's place down the way."

"Sure," Harry said with a smile. Draco shrugged and nodded, as did Hermione. Ron beamed and stood up.

"Right then! Ginny 'n us makes five. See you two tonight. Comin', mate?"

"Yeah." Harry stood and waved goodbye to the two still seated. "See you then."

"Uh huh," Draco said without even looking at him.

"See you, Harry," Hermione said briskly before finishing the rest of her drink.

Ron and Harry nodded to them before turning on the spot and Disapparating. Hermione and Draco rolled their eyes at the invisible outline of the two men before looking at one another and setting their cups down.

"You think Harry's noticed the way we never want their company?" Hermione asked tartly. Draco gave a dry chuckle and nodded.

"Yeah. But you know him – too damn shy to speak up about things. It's a bloody shame, really."

"I've given up on caring about them. I mean it."

"It's a dead horse, Hermione," Draco concluded calmly while he folded his arms. "We hate them all but we've no place else to go. Personally, I've always hated them. I only put up with them because you do."

"And I only put up with them because _you _do," Hermione sighed. They both laughed bitterly and shook their heads.

"Don't you have to meet up with Chanel tonight? For your therapy?"

"No. I asked her to take the week off. I think even she'd get tired of hearing me sob to her all night every night for nearly four years straight."

"She's a patient woman," Draco shrugged. "And she's F-… Fl…"

"Fleur's cousin… Yes, I know… but she knows nothing _about _Fleur, Draco. There really isn't much to ask anyone about her if not you. And you've told me all that you know."

"She's staying with Chanel."

"…Draco, I _can't. _I just _can't _see her. Not now."

"But Hermione—"

"I can't!" Hermione screeched. Draco winced and hung his head.

"I don't even know why I bother… fine. Fine. Anyway, I have to head back to work. Don't go crying to me when you've found that she's pissed at you for not finding her. I'm pretty sure she _remembers _you. And you made a promise to her. I didn't forget."

Hermione looked away from him with a scowl on her face. Draco sighed and shook his head before setting enough on the table for the bill and standing up. He smoothed down his shirt and hair before Disapparating. Hermione stood up abruptly and ignored the gaping stares from the surrounding Veela before Disapparating as well.

* * *

She felt idiotic. Standing in front of her full body mirror that night after getting dressed to go out with her _friends _was depressing. Depressing because she felt as if she were running away from her problems by agreeing to go out and get tipsy, never dance with anyone unless it was with Draco or Harry, and people watch while Ron babbled on and on to their group about that girl on the other side of the room with her friends who were obviously twins. All Hermione knew about her was that she was clearly Veela and clearly beautiful; this was all she cared to know, as she really didn't care much for the good fortune of her friends.

Cynical was a wonderful word to describe her. Beautiful was another – something men and even some women never failed to remind her of whenever they stared at her. Curvaceous was an exaggeration of her physique, but not exactly a grand lie of her appearance. Fair-skinned, smooth-skinned, sharp-skinned and fair and smooth and sharp she was. Her leer was as stinging as ever, as was her ever permanent scowl that some unsuspecting men loved to whistle at. She knew that they weren't just taking the piss, and yet she'd learned to snort at them and break their childish gleeful stares before strutting off. Her legs underneath her black and silver denim shorts had toned themselves from far too many occasions of needing to strut off, even in the heels that she dutifully wore. Black heels tonight, to at least try and match her shorts and white long-sleeved dress shirt.

Just as she smoothed down her buttoned shirt, she glanced down at her ring. She never took it off. The chocolate brown still matched her hair and her eye shadow and sculpted eyebrows, but she wondered if the chocolate in her eyes had melted by now from the power and smoulder in her gazes at other people and other things if not the pictures of her and Fleur together, or Fleur's things that she'd set about the room. And she let her eyes linger on the posters and lists and pictures and awards and books of Fleur's that she could see in the mirror that she'd kept in perfect condition. Even her wand was still on her desk. Fleur wasn't allowed a wand, but Hermione knew good and well that the woman may have been able to perform wandless magic by now. Even without Voldemort inside of her anymore, surely she was still as skilled as ever.

Hermione sighed and flicked her hand above her head to turn off the lights in her bedroom before taking her black Gucci purse from her dresser and leaving the room to walk downstairs. Twenty-one, and she was still living in the same house that she grew up in. Draco, Harry and Ginny had houses in Paris. Ron and his brothers still lived at the Burrow, not that Mr. or Mrs. Weasley minded. It just seemed like everyone at least had a job, even if it was for the government or a Quidditch team. Working had become far too stressful and she could not focus on her tasks the closer and closer it came for the time of Fleur's release. And now that she was free, Hermione couldn't do a thing. She didn't know what to expect, but she also didn't know what to do.

"Mum, Dad," Hermione said as she reached the parlour where her parents were watching television. They turned and smiled at her solemn figure. "I'm going out for the night."

"All right," Mr. Granger said. "But you know you don't have to tell us when you're going out…you're a grown woman."

"I know," Hermione said sternly. "I just wanted to let you know, is all."

"We understand," Mrs. Granger said. "Now go enjoy yourself! We'll see you in the morning."

Hermione could only nod before she Disapparated on the spot. She yet again felt worthless for feeling the need to report to her parents that she was going out.

* * *

Draco was wary about letting just anyone Apparate directly into his home, most especially because their other _friends _enjoyed showing up unannounced and declaring themselves his dinner dates for the evening. Hermione grumbled inwardly and slung her purse over her shoulder before continuing the short walk to Draco's house on the surprisingly empty avenue, not really caring about her path and instead wondering about Fleur. It was a warm night, and her irritation and impatience with herself only continued to grow tenfold with every click of her heels atop the pavement underneath her feet.

Fleur would think her silly if she ever saw her again, especially that night. Hermione even took the liberty of going for regular pedicures and manicures, making a note to keep her nails half-inch with acrylic on them. Fleur would probably laugh scathingly at her sleek tresses, her subtle make-up, her scowl her walk her talk her clothes… Either that or Hermione would simply be ignored.

Ignored dismissed criticised neglected uncared for abandoned deserted ignored ignored ignored _ignored. _Fleur did it once at the most crucial of times. She could do it again. She would. She could easily ignore the fire for her burning in the glares that Hermione tried to cover up with anger. She could so easily dismiss Hermione's advances, shake her hips no on her way out and laugh bitterly. Hermione shuddered as she made her way down the walkway to Draco's door. Laugh sneer mock and completely shake and destroy – all of this Fleur could do so simply without even needing to show her beautiful face.

A beautiful face, a beautiful woman, a beautiful soul and heart and mind that she'd been able to see for mere months – they'd stayed with her, just as Fleur herself had, for years. For years they'd been engrained in her mind, her heart her being her reality, never relinquishing their hold on her and forever making her want and need and _desire _more and more and more of Fleur until—

Until she knocked. Until she saw a shimmer of gold. Her heart stopped all activity, as did her mind and lungs and common sense.

Until she realised that she'd gone to the wrong address.

"Hermione? Something wrong?"

Hermione could only stare at her Therapist, looking very much as if she were on her way to go out for the night as well. Chanel stared right back at her behind her usual spectacles and fringes, looking too much like Fleur and yet too much like the concerned Therapist that she was. Hermione was temporarily thrown by not seeing the woman in a white lab coat for once, and yet she was extremely stunned by Chanel ushering her inside and closing and locking the door behind her. Moving or protesting was prohibited at this point, especially with Chanel guiding her with a hand on the small of her back, leading her into the spacious parlour and having her sit on a large black leather couch.

Chanel sat across from her on a similar couch and crossed her arms and legs, bouncing her foot inside of baby blue knee-high boots on top of black jeans. More silence ensued, during which Hermione felt more and more colour leave her burning face. No lights were on in the house; the ample moonlight shining in from outside was more than enough of a substitute. Hermione observed the royal blue shirt that Chanel was wearing, noting how tight it was, but noting more than anything that she was sitting in the very house that _Fleur _resided and _something _was bound to happen at this point.

"Something's up with you. So, mind telling me what?"

"Chanel… Chanel I… I n-need to leave—"

"Surely you're here to see Fleur? She'll be down in a moment. So soon, really, for you to be here. She and I are going out with two of my friends tonight."

Hermione could only stare ahead in horror as she heard a delicate clicking of heels coming down the marble stairs behind her. Chanel offered her a smile before retrieving her phone from her white Prada purse and answering it. She barely heard the woman address Draco curtly and learn that both of their groups were planning on attending the same club that evening. Anything else her Therapist was saying was lost upon Hermione; she felt a need to stand and leave or a quicker fix, Disapparate, but there were powerful forces acting against her Apparition wishes, leaving her immobilised and helpless.

Metres of memories and sensations and feelings drowned her, immersing her in fragments of nightmares, resurging her and reassuring her that she was in a losing battle that she wasn't even trying to fight. The powerlessness was overwhelming, as was a third of her that wanted to smile genuinely for the first time in years, but the rest of her that wanted to continue sitting there, hoping that the woman would really ignore her. Endless lonely nights and even some days with her hand mocked her, attacking her mind and ricocheting laughter and teases at her.

The feelings that had been subconsciously suppressed finally bubbled to the surface, threatening to submerge her in new realities that the woman was _here _and not _there; _no longer lost in an expanse of white, fighting her daemons and repenting for her sins. There were too many questions of what she could and ought to and needed to do right then and there, but she could only hide her indecision and fear and euphoria and confusion with a cold hard scowl.

The clicking was taunting. The gentle swish of hips inside of smooth jeans glossed over and around and in between her own hips, her own legs, hooking onto her and dragging her out, making her drip drip drip excrete; wet her own jeans. The nearing presence the nearing thrall the sophistication and familiarity and _fear _latched onto her, squeezing her and leaving her scowling though she knew she wanted to stare at the empty couch before her with fear fear fear and morbid, morbid trepidation.  
She heard a door open and click shut behind her, but only one pair of heels had gone through them. The second pair stopped behind her. She felt them there. She felt the allure, the possible anger, the undeniable commandeering presence and respect and authority and sheer sexuality right behind her. It surrounded her and made her want to rise to turn and kneel and beg and worship.

So instead, all Hermione could do was stand, confidently so, curling her body upwards in a feline fashion before turning her body in the same manner, slowly, to face her. She was dreadfully unprepared for the encounter, but she tried to push back any memories attempting to resurface just as she kept her fear from her body language. But once she finally did turn all the way around, cross her arms, and bent one knee passively, it was impossible; simply impossible to do anything other than stare, stare, stare, despite the lies in the anger of her eyes but the truths so apparent in her remembering to not dare blink. The leering and stone hard face was just a façade; a façade that was slowly but surely being melted away by ice, ironically enough.

And yet like her passions, feelings and ever burning desires, Hermione continued to keep her gaze, keep her stance, and observe the prominence and grace and sex appeal that was her Fleur Delacour staring right back at her from just behind the couch.


	3. set it off

_it's beyond words to describe what it feels like  
to only be aware of my heartbeats spelling an image of you  
on my warm chest while I think and think about you,  
the things you've said,  
and exactly what it is that you do to me._

_don't ever stop._

_keep setting me off.  
_

_please.  
_

_**iii. **__set it off_

_Sunday, August 9__th__, 1998_

_And they stared.  
_

_Stared at one another, into the other, over, around and in between, but never getting further than each others' eyes brimming with befuddlement and belligerence. Metal was ripping russet surrounded by blotches of red and ever-transparent tears, and it wasn't long before the fierceness from both had been ripped apart, giving way to a tinge of awkwardness. A sentimental toy in between her weak arms was suddenly held much more tightly than before once she felt a rip of memories, nearly all of them bad, about the blond before her. Anger was a mask for the sheer surprise she felt and the knock from her already lowered perch she felt from his showing up at such an unexpected time._  
_The sun was raining down on them, making blond spatter and build more and more transparency before her that she wished she didn't have. Blond, blonde, blood and beliefs gone astray came back to settle in her eyes; too many ashes of memories were in her eyes, making her blink, bow her head and bounce her heels slightly. To fidget, to ignore, to forget how much he made her think of _her – _it didn't matter. Nothing did, not even how much she was supposed to hate him._

_Draco ran a hand over his hair and bowed his head slightly, clearly noting Hermione's parents and friends looking out at them from just inside the house. A long moment passed, during which uneasy glances among those inside were exchanged before settling sympathetic eyes on the blond outside. Hermione glanced at those behind her and nodded shortly before clearing her throat and stepping aside. _

_Draco appeared to not have been expecting his acquaintance to be so welcoming of him into her home, but he nodded to her all the same and brushed himself off before stepping inside. Hermione hastily shut the door behind him and locked it before gesturing for him to follow her into the parlour, staring off into the distance, not with a blank expression, but one that was able to see quite easily how taut the awkward tension was between them. She held Noel protectively while she observed the white hot mist between them as she walked, wondering if he was berating the toy in his head or if he'd finally found the sense to realise how immature he'd been. And not just with Noel._

_Just as soon as the two sat down did everyone else excuse themselves to the back yard. Hermione was on one far end of the room with Draco on seemingly the very opposite end. The boy was torn in between wincing every five seconds and diverting his eyes about the room, determined to not look at Hermione just yet, if ever. Hermione herself was quite preoccupied with chewing the thin layers of skin off of her dry lips, wondering if it would be appropriate to offer Draco a cup of tea. Instead of watching him pull at his fingers any longer, she balled hers into fists around the fabric of her shorts before speaking up._

"_W… Would you…like a—"_

"_No. No, th…thanks." Draco finally looked at Hermione's surprised face once he muttered his gratitude. Hermione somehow managed a very small smile while they continued to hold eye contact, albeit difficultly. Hermione noticed him flickering his gaze in between her and Noel, almost in a fidgeting manner, but his eyes showed no sign of disgust or jest. She sighed in relief._

"_All right…" More awkward staring. Hermione tucked a stray curl behind her ear before sniffling and pulling at the bottom of her shirt. The hurt in Draco's eyes was still apparent, as she knew her own was, and most likely mirrored in the gray so far away. Settling on but one memory she could see in his eyes, his presence, his vibes was impossible. Talking would have to do for the moment. "So…so what brings you here?"_

_Hermione was trying with all of her willpower and more to not cry in front of Draco. She knew that he had the courtesy to be sympathetic had she done so, but she refused to bring herself to giving in. The sympathy was already there, prominent in the hurt still lingering in his eyes, but she didn't want it. Not now. She knew that the others had only started visiting more often out of their own form of sympathy; something that she was growing to resent and she didn't know why. Hermione humoured herself in thinking that Draco would understand if she…confided this in him._

_An inexplicably strong tug was working inside of her, seemingly pulling the two together; when, in reality, Draco had stood up curtly and took a seat on the couch in closer proximity to his old schoolmate. Hermione was taken aback, in a strangely good way, by his actions; a small smile graced her tear-stained face and Draco nodded politely. The tension in the room had been severed somewhat by his actions, and Hermione wondered optimistically if things between them would finally, finally be resolved. They didn't need long, drawn-out resolutions; she knew that they were both adults and could handle disputes as such._

_And even though Draco had gone and ruined things during the school year, Hermione knew that Fleur still cared for and respected him._

"_I'll just get to the point, then." Draco coughed loudly and adjusted the collar of his shirt before taking a deep breath, Hermione seemingly staring hopefully at him. He seemed to be surprised by this, causing him to stammer. Hermione held back a smile as he spoke. "W-well… I don't… I don't think…she…wants us to…uh. She wouldn't…" Draco appeared to have bitten a choke back once he noticed Hermione's eyes glistening with a sombre effervescence. He cleared his dry throat and bit back his own emotions as he tried to continue. _

_"She hated that I _used _to…hate you… And…"_

"_I don't hate you… I don't." Hermione sniffled loudly and gave a sincere, but small, smile. "Honest."_

"_Hmph…could've fooled me." Draco winced in an attempt at returning her gesture. "What with the way you were looking at me minutes ago, I'd almost thought you were gonna tell me off."_

"_I can say the same about you, Malfoy." Hermione frowned slightly but loosened up immediately when Draco let out an almost nervous chuckle. "It was just…"_

"_Instinct, I know… It's my…my fault. What…what I'm trying to say is…that… She always wanted…me to…uh, _apologise, _to you. So…so…ehh… I get that I apologised when I gave back N… N…?" Draco was pointing blankly at the white otter looking at him from in between Hermione's arms, lost in thought._

"_Noel," Hermione chuckled softly, shaking her head at him. Draco winced and nodded._

"_Yeah, him. Your otter… And uh…well I don't think I… I kind of only said I was sorry because I didn't know what else to say…you know… That was the last night we got to see…Fleur…until she was sealed away. So…so I kind of only said it 'cause I thought that it was what you wanted to hear. And I did it for Fleur…not so much for you… But… but, uh…"_

"_Something's changed."_

"_Yeah… Yeah, that's right… And… uh…err… I'm s…sorry… Honest this time. I had my reasons for hating your guts and all, but none of it seems right anymore…"_

"_I accept your apology. Everything's in the past now, so don't worry about it." Hermione's voice had lost the small amount of strength it had, but Draco was still able to hear her. He winced at her again, Hermione smiled again; something was still far too amiss for any genuine emotions to come forth on either of their faces. "I understand that I'm not the only one who misses her… Besides…it must be hard for you. What with your parents and everything…"_

"_My parents…" Draco nearly spat out the venom scratching his throat collecting around those two words alone, and Hermione looked at him with surprise. He shrugged and continued on, "I don't even know what to think of them anymore…"_

"_You don't have to tell me. It's all right."_

"_No." Draco shook his head and sighed deeply. "I'll show you some time. You can come by before I sell the place."_

"_Oh. Sell?"_

"_That's right. I plan on moving to Paris, over in Diagon Alley."_

"_That's wonderful, really. Have you ever been there before?"_

"_Yeah, Fleur and I snuck off there a couple of times in fifth and sixth year once I was old enough to get in to all the places. Once you've been inside once, you don't need to be holding a Veela's hand or whatever to get in again. You should find a place there too."_

"_Oh no…no that's quite all right…"_

"_What? Too raunchy for you?"_

"_Raunchy?"_

"_Hah, yeah." Draco grinned and shook his head at Hermione's confusion. "It's to be expected in a city full of Veela. It's got some raunchy areas, some sassy, some classy, some in between. You know – the works. Don't tell me you plan on living here your entire life." _

"_I don't know… I'm not quite ready to be on my own…not yet… I think… I think I'd go mad if I did."_

_Draco said nothing, but gave a sincere wince that Hermione took to be another smile. Hermione wanted to bask in the relief that Draco was no longer choosing to be immature, but she knew that she and him both felt the absence of someone dear stinging them ever so much. _

_They both kept their eyes downcast and breathed in the increasing discomfiture in the air, all the while continuing to fidget nervously in their seats. It was still liberating, in a way, to have put their past differences behind them and move on like adults. Adults, or just two persons who were, and forever would be, deeply influenced by frozen, invisible in-toleration. _

_And somewhere, kilometres away, an old soul smiled._

* * *

And they stared.

Blue bored into the near black underneath her, behind the black furniture, before the black of her own masked confusion. The moonlight made her eyes brighter, Hermione's outline even brighter, and the sheer apathy of the situation the brightest – they were torn. Sexual desire and romantic desire versus hatred and anger and absolute disgust; to say and voice the confusion and wants would be to make them concrete.

All she could do was fold her arms and hide her trembling hands that wanted to touch, to feel, to familiarise what she'd lost for four long, long years. The beauty before her was palpable, the maturation that had occurred was blatantly obvious, and the fermentation of the natural wine of Hermione, both red and white, was absolutely stunning and astounding. She wanted to drink but was too parched to act; too depraved, probably, to drink correctly with the right manners.

Fleur was the very essence of a dichotomy, but Hermione could never ever know; half of her was ready to melt into a pool of fear and shame and anguish and dabs of shock, while the other was overpowering her with feelings of anger and hatred and desires to pounce and dominate. She had no idea how to hold herself, and yet Hermione did.

The irritation with it all made her sigh through her nose, and the expected half of her felt a pang of guilt when she barely noticed a minute rise of fear in Hermione's darkened eyes. Fleur could see built-up layers of pain there in the dark; there where Hermione presumably thought no one could ever tread and search the depths of her being. The sealing hadn't cut Fleur off to the skills that she'd learnt and treasured for Hermione at all; if anything, they were more in-tact than ever. It was just the ever-so-present problem of the bi-polar nature about her.

To hold Hermione or conquer her; kiss her or hit her; touch her gently or handle her roughly; taste touch tell her gentlest desires or force the roughest ones upon her – Fleur wanted to do them all at once, but the space of time would not allow for such a thing, nor would her heart. She felt her same heart fall a little more as she took a step to walk around the couch and Hermione took a step back.

Another step forward, another step back; forward, back; towards, away; closer, farther – it neared the point that Fleur was simply walking towards Hermione through the ostentatious parlour; Hermione who continued to back herself against a moonlit ivory wall. Fleur's expression continued to regress more and more, not to anger, but to obvious hurt that Hermione was not reciprocating. For the first time in years, if ever, Fleur actually felt…awkward. Awkward because of that…that _thing _on Hermione's beautiful, _beautiful _face.

That scowl. Hermione was scowling with sheen in her eyes. Fleur continued forward, towards; closer to Hermione, using her acquired makeshift X-Ray vision to hold on to the hurt in the hue of her eyes underneath her. Somewhere she heard a car drive off, and she was thankful that her cousin had enough silent tact that night. Hermione flickered her eyes to the door for a split second, and in that second Fleur took advantage of the opportunity and unfolded her arms and raised her still trembling hands just as the woman before her pressed herself against the wall.

Fleur was not touching her, though she wanted to. Hermione had looked back up at her, looking as though she didn't want to; she noticed the earthquakes for hands Fleur had. Hermione noticed that Fleur no longer appeared to have been holding her breath, and she let out her own; both were shaking just as much as both of their hands. Fleur felt a flash of pain stab her forehead, and she shut her eyes and took a step back, fearing the ever-present confusion that she knew would never leave her at this point. The pang of fear that she'd seen on Hermione's face, present in her body language, tasted in the air surrounding her, made her back away. Someone was pulling invisible strings attached to her body, something was making her act without thinking, and somehow, she was still losing.

Delicate forces, the strings were; it was abnormal and so familiar at the same time. It was as familiar as sitting down on the couch, which she did, and as abnormal as Hermione scowling at her. And every night, with every nightmare, she felt the strings grow in magnitude, in size, in strength; she refused to let her cousin even mention her to Hermione.

Fleur shook the fear away and kept breathing, trying desperately to not lose her nerve and go into a fit of shock. She wanted to be alone and with Hermione all at the same time; her wants and needs and desires seemed to always transcend natural boundaries, and she grew tired of them. Hermione wouldn't understand and she needn't understand a thing – the woman was still afraid of her. Afraid. Of her. If Hermione was still afraid, then –

"Fleur…"

Fleur jerked her head up from her artificial darkness and realised that she'd buried her face in her hands. Hermione was sitting on the opposite side of the couch, facing her, not giving her any false emotions. The emotion that she'd heard coated over her name was genuine concern with a hint of apology; more than anything, she'd forgotten how it felt to hear Hermione say her name if not in a nightmare. The sensations she felt almost made her dizzy with a very foreign kind of giddy that she couldn't quite experience in its entirety. The look in Fleur's eyes, she hoped, conveyed this in and of itself; her eyes were shaped in such a way that she was gently searching Hermione's.

Searching for another utterance of her name, another source of hope, another chance – something still wasn't right. Fleur knew something was wrong with her, still, but she didn't know _what. _She'd always felt this way, for six years now, and the concept of _normal _was completely strange to her. The extreme wants had always been there, most especially with Hermione, only growing to full bloom once the possession had truly been realised.

Fleur fought back a shudder at the thought; a shudder of shame or sorry she didn't know. She felt as if she were choking in the ocean of her own being, and it wasn't comfortable; the thought made her blush violently. But was it the thought, or the action of Hermione moving to sit right next to her…?

"Fleur," Hermione repeated gently. Fleur felt another blush and scowled as she tried to quickly turn her head around, hearing Hermione swallow audibly and lick her lips. The latter made her shiver involuntarily, and she knew Hermione noticed… "I'm… I'm sorry…to've shown up uninvited… The…the tr…truth is that I actually ended up here by mistake… I… I can leave…if…if you'd like…"

Deep breath… Deep breath… And another she took, to calm herself, to compose herself; Fleur felt the awkwardness of the situation pile more and more viscosity the longer and longer Hermione continued to sit there, to nearly touch her, to breathe the same air as her to show her concern to hide her true emotions. Of course Fleur didn't want her to _leave _– she _wanted her. _But that was impossible to convey at the moment. Impossible…

Fleur curled her neck back around to face Hermione sitting right next to her, still. She looked down at their hands; their nails were nearly touching. _Hermione Delacour – _Fleur saw the ring. That ring. The glint made an ache ring through her system. Their knees and legs and shoulders and arms were so close. Their faces, not so much; Hermione still hadn't grown after all these years, it seemed. But Fleur saw the emotional growth more than anything; she knew Hermione wanted to cry.

Her nightmares frequented that afternoon when she could still hear Hermione's crying just before she was sealed away. The same eyes that had seen those same lurid dreams glossed up Hermione's equally glossy, sharp clothing, and stopped in a pool of syrup. It was impossible to get out when she wished it and to stay in when she wished it – forbidden paths and wants were forever forbidden, barricaded and surrounded by the walls of the words themselves. _Hermione Delacour… _Hermione promised to wait. She _did _keep her promise…that seemed to say enough.

Fleur wanted to keep looking in Hermione's eyes, but the second she voiced her desires to herself, her eyes moved back down to the chocolate ring. When she decided to focus on that, her eyes went back to the chocolate eyes. Back down, and up, down, up, down, up; her mind could not make itself up or down. With every rip of her gaze, she felt a wound of guilt rip itself more and more inside of her – it hurt the most because she knew she was still scowling. Her face eventually relaxed itself once the pain became too much, and Hermione seemed to sense it. She sensed everything; nothing had really changed.

Fleur heard a shifting of clothing, and was soon submerged in the warmth that she'd never really forgotten, only misplaced, as her back was pressed against the arm of the couch. In the warmth, she felt stitches of reminders that she wasn't the only one hurting and who needed sewing and who'd been put back together in the wrong ways for far too long – Hermione actually seized upon her courage to hold her.

Some of the chips of ice were blown away from her, the ones in her eyes melted away, stingingly, and she could only blink in surprise while her heart continued to blink far faster than she remembered it ever moving before. She could finally feel her blood moving, her emotions moving, and herself moving, with Hermione, though they were stable.

But she could seem to bring herself to moving her arms at all, especially not with Hermione nearly clamping them to her sides. Fleur didn't blame her at all, but she still felt the strange, unwanted emotions prodding at her psyche; she wished they'd leave but she knew it wasn't that simple. She didn't want Hermione to be this close to her, to feel them, to hear them smashing against her chest under her ear.

But Fleur knew she wanted to _feel. _Feel Hermione – feel her arms her thighs her hands her breasts her neck her face her hair – it was all there, but Fleur didn't trust herself to feel more. She could smell Hermione's delicate perfume and the scent of her soft tresses just under her nose and the salt of her emotions running down her neck.

The hug was delicate with dabs of pressure built up over too many years, and Fleur hadn't the strength to tell Hermione that she wasn't strong enough to carry the burden of being in her presence yet. Hermione was not the problem – the feel of her body pressed against her and being held so close was not it – Fleur was the problem. But like the barely audible sounds of Hermione sobbing, Fleur could barely hear a voice telling her to pounce and control and seize; not reciprocate as softly as _she _wanted to.

Fleur felt a searing rip from stability once Hermione let go of her, far too soon for her liking, and quickly stood up. There was a powerful burn present in her face and neck, and Fleur couldn't bring herself to look up at Hermione who was shifting her weight from one heel to the next; the woman probably felt foolish because she hadn't received a hug in return. Fleur felt foolish and couldn't bring herself to admit that she was far too swept up in the current of her confusions to have even moved; she could only sit there like the idiot she felt she was. The ripple she felt from Hermione's dulcet tones made her shiver again, and she knew the woman saw. That was explanation enough, for the moment.

"I'm sorry," Hermione breathed, "I shouldn't've… well… I just couldn't…help myself… Or I _could _but I just didn't…_want_...to…" Fleur craned her head up to look at Hermione evenly, though she felt her heart tug down with each and every one of Hermione's tears that kept falling so freely. "It was…rude of me, first, to come here… I realise you need your…your space… I had absolutely _n-no_ right to do that…"

Fleur said nothing; she couldn't. Words could never convey how she felt. Not now, not ever. And she feared touching Hermione again. Yet her silence was hurting Hermione. It wasn't working – nothing was, and nothing ever would. Hermione sniffled loudly and quickly reached in her purse for a quill and parchment; Fleur raised her eyebrows as she watched Hermione jot something down and hurriedly take her hand and press the parchment into her palm and snatched her hand away. Hermione seemed to have an urgent need to leave the premises, and Fleur was not assured in her stability to protest. She walked Hermione to the door, all the while trying to memorise every feel of every second that passed and every click of their heels as they walked closer and closer to their destination.

Not long after was the door open and Fleur leading Hermione out. Fleur watched the absolute need in Hermione's eyes multiply tenfold as she did, and she wondered if she was conveying the same need in her own azures. Still, she knew that she wasn't prepared to see Hermione, even if it had been months since her release – she needed to figure out what was wrong with herself, on her own, first and foremost. And yet it seemed that Hermione still knew how to read her, even after all this time.  
"You can reach me at any time, Fleur… I… I want to be here for you. Really I do… Just…just let me know when you…when you want…me… I'll…leave you alone until then…"  
Hermione boldly stepped forward to wrap Fleur in one last strong embrace, even finding the courage to say _I love you _before pulling away and Disapparating. The shock of those three words took their time in consuming Fleur as she stammered back inside and closed the door. She backed against it and slumped to the floor dejectedly, wondering just what in the hell it was that was still making her feel the need to put such distance between Hermione and herself. Her absence was painful, and increased in magnitude by exactly what Hermione had written on the parchment in her hands –

Her cell phone number was there, along with a note that she still lived at the same address, and, again, the _I love you._

* * *

Monday, August 12th

People stare, people fear; they try and pretend to be cordial and smile, but they really fear and stare because they're people.

Fear bounced off the cool stone walls, the burning stone pathways, the metal of the cars going to and fro, the very voices of the chatter around her; it even materialised itself in the air, chilling the path that she walked and making those shiver in her wake – it was all there, damning to suffocate her but failing to overpower her silent majestic rule over the invisible forces. Fleur seemed to be a walking obsession for the Veela, and some humans, surrounding her, in her city. _Her city, _she would tell herself. She walked with her same confident strut, held herself with the same air as a two fort-years ago, and not once did she lose her step. And though her heels still clicked as loud as or louder than the ones of the women around her, the sun seemed determined to not shed light on this fact; it shed enough to make everyone else sweat but her.

She wasn't even allowed to go anywhere or be anywhere alone; her cousin was obligated to forever be her shadow. Not that either of them minded, but Fleur humoured herself in wondering just what it was about her that the world was still supposed to fear. Her history, her rise above her problems; or was it just an invisible, or magical, vulnerability to suddenly switch back to being possessed that made her a source of fear? As if a look from one of them would immediately make her switch, something that could happen to anyone, but she was the most viable target because she'd been possessed before. It was one thing that she was gay – having been possessed by Voldemort made her even worse, despite her beauty and intelligence. She hated the silent prejudices, but chose to keep quiet herself for the time being.

Just as the two entered a dark building, Fleur removed her sunglasses that were utterly useless outside and in, and followed after her cousin to their usual table. Fleur immediately relaxed as she inhaled largely, filling her senses with the scent of leather, expensive alcohol, Parisian cigarettes and Veela women. The building had a strange, palpable, purple mist floating throughout, emanating from the cigars and cigarettes smoked by the Veela patrons inside, also sitting at large, ivory rectangular tables with others. The people there did not stare at her – they did not stare because, she felt, they were one of her. They were beautiful, independent, and had interests that were sexual but completely casual, the latter of which was an enigma to nearly half of Paris. They all sat languidly at their tables with one another, listening to the soft French music and murmuring with their neighbour while keeping their eyes on the women dancing seductively on the tables for them.

Fleur and Chanel took their seats at their usual table where their four friends greeted them with a curt nod and a devilish look, the former of which the two Delacours returned as they sat. Fleur took the seat in between Dominique and Giselle Devereux, two Veela twins, blonde and brunette, who were both smoking cigarettes and casually blowing the haze from the same side of their mouths, looking bored and uninterested in the dancer in front of them. Next to Giselle sat Geneviève Vincent, a blonde, who was rolling her eyes at her brother next to her, Fabien, also blond, who fumbled his cigarette as Chanel sat down next to him. Chanel clicked her tongue at him and shook her head before looking up at the dancer for a moment and speaking up.

"So you're all playing hooky today, I take it?"

"Obviously," Giselle shrugged, "it's not like there's much to do at work for Domi and me anyway. Taking pictures gets boring after so many years of doing it."

"Shouldn't you just quit if you're bored?"

"People talk."

"Since when do you care about people?"

"We don't," Dominique and Giselle deadpanned at the same time. Chanel grinned at them and nodded.

"So, Fleur…" Chanel said. Fleur raised an eyebrow at her cousin after declining a cigarette offer from Dominique. "Shouldn't you tell them what happened on Friday?"

"Oooh, what happened on Friday, huh?" Fabien asked. Fleur pursed her lips and shook her head. "Oh come on! You can tell us. Does it have something to do with Hermione?"

"Hermione?" Geneviève asked disbelievingly. "Why'd you assume that? Fleur hasn't mentioned the woman all month."

"Hey, it could have something to do with her. I remember I saw Hermione the other day, she was sitting with this, this blond character. Oh, oh – Draco, yes, we did meet him. Yes, she was sitting with him and they argued or something. She looked rather upset; I think they were talking about you, Fleur! But hey, like I said, it _could _have something to do with Hermione. You never know—"

"And you _won't _know unless you shut up and let me tell you," Fleur said venomously.

"Fabien," Dominique sighed when the man looked positively heartbroken, "can't you ever get the hint that you talk too damn much? Shut up for a few minutes for once in your life and let Fleur speak."

"Thank you Domi," Fleur said curtly with a nod. "Anyway, there isn't as much to say as Chanel seemed to be hinting at, if that's what you were thinking."

"Mmm no, not really," Geneviève said, "it's not like you came in here smiling like a fool, so there must not be too much to say."

"Perceptive now, aren't we?" Fleur asked with a grin and a raise of her eyebrow. Geneviève chuckled and winked at her as a waitress came by and handed Fleur and Chanel each a drink.

"Mhm, you didn't show up at the club with Chanel and the twins and they wouldn't say why. So what happened? The girlfriend shows up again after all this time, and how does our dear Fleur deal, hm?"

"Well…" Fleur began after letting a grin slip to the dancer in front of them who was also grinning at her, "I didn't say anything. We were staring at each other for the longest, and I was actually…kind of nervous. She was scowling at me for a while, probably to hide how nervous she was too. And I was torn between wanting to hold her or rape her."

"Rape her?" Giselle echoed. Fleur brushed her fringes from her eye and nodded plainly.

"She just looked so vulnerable," Fleur murmured, smiling coyly as she took a sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon. The others grinned impishly at her. "She dresses like we do and has a look sharper than Gen's nails, and she's entirely too beautiful…much more so than I remembered… But she uses her bravado and attitude to hide how pitifully…depressed…she is."

"She's right," Chanel said, "I've noticed the same thing after four years of observations. Hermione's rather easy to provoke as well. Still…she's extremely soft on the inside. Something that Fleur's always needed."

"Yes, you're right... And that night, part of me wanted to show her that I meant no harm, but there was another part of me that did want to mean harm. I had some carnal instinct, telling me to nearly suffocate her while I finally kissed her after so long."

"So you didn't kiss her?" Fabien looked wholly disappointed. Fleur sighed quietly and nodded.

"There's no rush… I have to move slowly with her; let her make the first moves."

"Exactly what do you have in mind to do with her?" Dominique asked with a smirk. Chanel leant back in her seat and smiled while everyone else leant in interestedly. Fleur gave them a wicked smile and continued on.

"For the moment, I don't know. But…I _can _tell you that there may be vestiges of something more lingering inside of me. I don't know what it is…but I like it. Presumably just after-effects of the sealing, but Chanel seems to know more than I do sometimes about this. The longer I'm away from her, the more I want to conquer and control and consume Hermione…but…when I'm with her… I don't get it. I feel…softer?"

"You feel like you're just in love with her," Dominique concluded. Fleur nodded.

"That's right. The urges I've had since I've been released didn't really come up as strongly when I was around her. And yet when I was in the Chamber…I was burning for her all the while. Now that I'm out…something's…off… It's almost as if Hermione is some anti-carnal being… She brings out the other side of me and suppresses this one."

"But that's no fun," Fabien pouted.

"No it's not." Fleur shook her head and took another sip of her wine, casting a sideways glance at her cousin. "Chanel, you're the specialist in psychology. You must have _some _insight into this."

"Some…no Fleur, I have _a lot_ of insight into this. So in your case, I suggest you go with your instincts. Something I've noticed is that your mood and desires and behaviours tend to mirror Hermione's, even if you're nowhere near her."

"Sounds dangerous," Geneviève said with a grin. Fleur licked her lips thoughtfully and considered it for a moment.

"Sounds exciting!" Fabien laughed.

"_Hermione_ is dangerous and exciting," Fleur clarified. "I just wish I could get my hands on the source. Maybe I can take advantage of this mood thing…"

"How so?"

"I've always had this fantasy… A fantasy of getting revenge. Revenge on the world for being so very…repulsive, Utopic, discriminating and disgusting. Hermione is the exact opposite of those things, which is why I love her so. She deserves better than to have suffered alone without me…I feel bad that she has. I want to…change that… I want to…make up…for it…"

"But it wasn't your fault," Giselle pointed out with a frown. Fleur also frowned sadly and sighed.

"Giselle…that's exactly my point. It wasn't _my _fault – it was the world's. The world has made Hermione suffer, hardened her to a fault, confused her to no end… She's so angry…just like I am. I couldn't shield her from it. I couldn't stop her from tumbling down the same path I went. I couldn't protect her…and I hate the world for ripping her innocence away before I could…"

"Or do you really just hate yourself?" Geneviève asked carefully. Fleur tapped her nail on her wine glass for a moment, keeping her inhales and exhales timed with the clinks.

"That, too," Fleur murmured painfully. "But the world is a simple scapegoat… It always has been and it always will be… I might as well take advantage of it. And yet it doesn't seem…right."

"Superego working at its finest," Chanel sighed. "Seriously, forget about the world, Fleur. Hermione…deserves more…"

"Hermione…" Fleur breathed. "I've missed her so much, and yet I've been cooped up in my room all weekend, scheming for revenge… I've been hurting her, haven't I?"

"Surely you have…I haven't spoken to her since she insisted I take the week off."

"How about this," Giselle suggested, "just fix things with her, first. Regain her trust. And then, whatever you decide in terms of revenge can come later."

"It'll just be a simple case of charming her into thinking that you're not up to anything," Dominique added. "Even if it is technically for her." Fleur nodded to them both.

"From what you've told us, I doubt she'd want to do anything," Geneviève said with a wave of her hand. "You have to think about how she grew up. Always fighting for the little man and sticking up for the underprivileged. I heard from Draco that she used to work for the Law Enforcement branch of government over in Wizarding London."

"I'll _make her _want to do something…" Fleur scowled and licked her lips. The others smirked and nodded. "I just need to see if she's as strong and bold as she ought to be from the glimpses I saw the other night. She just has some strange power over me with these emotions…"

"Fleur…you'll get past that…trust me," Chanel said.

"And how are you so sure?" Fleur asked sceptically.

"Such trivial matters; I just am."


	4. stupid mouth

_**iv. **__stupid mouth_

Tuesday, August 13th

_Stupid. Absolutely stupid._

_You're sitting here, waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting waiting waiting waiting waiting, Hermione. Not being patient, but bleeding _waiting. _You're waiting on the woman to call you. Waiting on a woman who can't even bother to tell you herself to sod off. Waiting on a woman who hasn't even really spoken about you to her cousin, your Therapist, who would assuredly have the in scoop on her girlfriend. Assuming you still _are _her girlfriend, that is. She couldn't even hold you properly. But no, you went and played the damsel in distress anyway and cried and pined. _

_Fleur has absolutely no idea how to handle herself anymore, and you're showing her sympathy by not calling or showing up at her home. But of course, she has the benefit of the doubt of being possessed by some twisted man for two years, who you brought out no less, and then having to be confined in the freezing cold for yet another four years. And let me state that she, in fact, had no idea how to handle _anyone at all _for a whole eighteen years before any of that, and made up for it by being quiet and supposedly so inauspicious. _

_Don't you have the right to be angry? You waited for four bleeding years and, now, you've been kept waiting for four fucking days and nights and she still has not called. Hell, she didn't even say anything that night! Are you expected to be the one who puts their life on hold for their frozen not-really-girlfriend? You quit your well-paying job with the damn government, a job that you were on the brink of promotion for, to the _Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, _and you went and quit. Because of who? Because of Fleur? No you idiot – because of you! _

_You've been waiting all this time, Hermione. Waiting, hanging around, passing time, doing nothing, sitting thinking breathing blinking berating lying around doing fucking nothing. At least you had work to preoccupy your time before – now you've no excuses. You told Ron off last night for him suggesting politely for you to get off your sorry arse and do something. Storm the place, get her number from Chanel, start a mosh pit outside her window; something! You've abandoned your friends and essentially told your parents to screw themselves because you prefer holing yourself up here and making yourself look miserable, all to please Fleur, imaginably._

_Imaginary, Hermione – it's always been imaginary. Your imaginary rivalry in Hogwarts, the imaginary vibes you'd gotten over the years telling you she was watching over you, and now the imaginary tugs on your tears now, making you cry because you think you're not justified in feeling angry. She doesn't love you anymore, you've no business waiting on her, and she isn't worth your time. You wasted away four years of your life in depression, and for what? To cry on her shoulder for a few minutes, feel like a fool because she didn't hug you back, and get a pang of recollection about how she didn't say anything or even _look _at you that afternoon four years ago? You really can't catch the hint, can you?_

_Fucking pathetic._

Hermione lay upon her bed that night, staring up at a lone object in between her fingers. A memento of sorts – a lone feather that had fallen from Fleur's form that night in the Atrium. A golden hue surrounded the long feather, even years later, and Hermione wondered exactly why she'd kept it for so long. It didn't smell of anything, or remind her of anything in particular; not anymore, at least. It was _just _a feather at this point. A feather or a quill with no ink that could seamlessly write out her life story – damsel in distress waiting for her knight in frozen armour; she waited; the knight never came, only night in her place, every night, for hundreds of nights that never offered her any comfort.

She'd convinced herself for years that anger was not an emotion she deserved to feel when it came to Fleur. Anger, apathy, regret, could have, should have, would have – no longer in her vocabulary. Only remorse, longing and helplessness belonged, and they remained. Hermione felt helpless to her own fate; something that she never planned and never thought needed planning. All had been planned for her and she seemingly had no say in the matter; not even her emotions lay in the framework of what she had a _say _in. It finally took a long analysing session of Fleur's actions after the fact, as well as the ever so wonderful fact that Fleur still had not called her, for Hermione to realise that she'd been a fool, she'd been taken for a fool, as a fool, and forever would be a fool as long as she ate, breathed, and slept Fleur Delacour.

It was only a few months; she'd try to reason with herself and swear that Fleur hadn't had that much of an influence on her. They'd only been dating for a few months until that horrible, ill-timed incident. She was set on the notion that no one could ever compare to Fleur; her beauty her grace her soul her flawlessness and her flaws could never be surpassed or undermined by anyone. Hermione shuddered at the reminder of one night many months ago when she and Draco had nearly kissed out of an awkward loneliness they both felt. They silently swore never to speak of it again. But it was times like those when Hermione realised that she was trapped in a hell ivy of the locks of blonde and acrylic claws that forever plagued her waking and sleeping dreams.

Hermione swore under her breath when her phone began to ring on her nightstand. She tossed the feather aside and snatched her phone irritably.

"Hello?" she asked tartly.

No response. Hermione let out a short breath and clicked her tongue impatiently at the person's increasing silence. She removed the phone from her ear and looked at the screen – there was no name there, but a foreign number. She felt a sudden heat rush to her face when she realised that she'd just been angry and belligerent about Fleur's withdrawal, and the entire situation itself, and yet Fleur really did call. Hermione swallowed as she placed the phone back to her ear, feeling a strong need to apologise for her unwarranted tone.

And yet the same voice was growing angry with herself for feeling the need to apologise, for _feeling _anything, really.

"Fleur?"

Nothing.

"Fleur…if this isn't you, then hang up…" A pause; the person didn't hang up. Hermione sighed quietly. "Hi Fleur." Hermione tilted her head interestedly; she could hear Fleur's rather erratic breathing. She didn't see the sense in asking why her breathing was the way it was, and instead tried to ignore the sharp pangs of guilt she'd felt moments ago and tried to keep speaking, "I'm glad you called…" Or was she? Hermione grumbled and kept on, "I wasn't really expecting you to call tonight. I don't know…I just… I hope you're doing well."

Still no response. Hermione rolled her eyes anxiously and chewed her lip, trying to ponder topics of conversation with a determinedly mute woman on the other end. She thought to the days of the week, noting that it was still Tuesday, and realised with an abnormally stinging pang that it was Fleur's birthday in four days. Hermione nearly bit her lip off in an effort to keep the conversation far away from that topic, and cleared her suddenly dry throat for a moment to bide a little more time.

"Fleur, ah… You don't need to stay on the phone if you've nothing to say… I'm afraid I don't have much to say, either. I was just hoping you'd call when…well…I don't know. I suppose I was just hoping you'd call, plain and simple. But now that you have…I… I don't… Well… Perhaps I ought to call you some other time… I'm not sure what to say and I doubt you want to sit on the phone and listen to me breathe the entire time. Unless…unless you've something…something to say… If not, you can…hang up…"

An extremely long moment passed between them, and all Hermione could hear was Fleur's still irregular breathing. Hermione berated herself inwardly for suggesting that Fleur hang up, but she surmised that she'd feel even more foolish staying on the phone with nothing to say, or nothing she _ought _to say, at least. Just as she was about to give an empty, seemingly sudden apology, Fleur hung up. Hermione immediately saved the number to her phone before sitting up and clasping the device close to her chest; she felt absolutely stupid, and it was bothering her to no end.

Hermione sighed loudly and placed her phone back on the nightstand before standing; she needed a cup of tea, or coffee, or _something _to calm her nerves. She smoothed down her sleeveless T-shirt and short shorts as she stood and left her room to go downstairs. A fleeting, paranoid thought passed her mind to run up and retrieve her phone in case Fleur decided to call back, but she suppressed the notion and continued on to the kitchen. Though, just as she began her walk through the parlour, her heart stopped before her legs did as she heard a soft knocking on the door.

She'd passed her parents' bedroom on the way downstairs and confirmed that they were asleep; surely it was a late hour, and whoever it was, certainly not Fleur, must have been stark raving mad to be visiting at that hour. Just as she felt the blood continue its way throughout her body, she let out a shallow breath and made her way to the door. She didn't know who she wanted the person to be, but she knew part of her was aching for _her, _and another part was aching for any and all aching to stop. Hermione seemed to be a walking paradox, and it was no wonder that her heart was racing and aching in a way that made her sigh, but her muscles were stiff and stubborn with anger and resentment; anger with Fleur or with herself or both.

But of course, just as she reached the door, she stopped. Her hand could not move to the handle; her ear could only move to the mahogany and press against the wood in hopes of hearing who it might be instead of braving looking out the peep hole. The visual affirmation would be simply too much. Listening for someone that was there but did not want to be heard seemed safe enough, though completely foolhardy. Hermione swallowed loudly and wiped her sweaty hands against the thin fabric of her shorts before making up her mind to simply open the door. Open it before _she _decided to leave and never come back.

And so Hermione opened the door; immediately, she felt her breath ripped from her, replaced with the chilling night air perfumed with the subtle, invisible thrall of Fleur before her. Hermione expelled any ounce of shyness from her as she raised her heavy gaze from the leather copper of her knee-high boots to a pair of black baggy pants and a white cashmere V-neck all wrapped in between a black and white trench coat. It took a rather rude second for her to notice that her eyes had been lingering on the skin in between the cashmere, and she quickly forced her eyes upward to focus on Fleur's hair first. Fleur's sheet of hair that was still as dazzling as ever, just like the smooth skin of her chest, her neck, her arms, her face... Her face that Hermione longed to taste, if only with her hands for the moment.

Hermione quickly stepped aside before her eyes could focus on those azures and motioned for Fleur to enter. Fleur did so, and Hermione closed and locked the door behind them, licking her lips as she tried to remember what it was like to have the woman in her home again after so long. What it was like to simply have Fleur _be _again, and not be frozen, was a feat in and of itself; it was comforting and maddening at the same time because of how new it all was. She literally felt the motions running about underneath her own skin that was warming with Fleur's presence; she knew she still felt the love and passions for her, but it was all so hard to grasp. And as she turned around, lost in sentimental thought, she automatically reached out to take Fleur's coat.

It was a very long time before she realised that she'd looked up and into Fleur's eyes. She felt secure, there, under Fleur's almost soft gaze; the height difference was still present, but it felt like home. But Hermione could not linger there for long; Fleur had removed her coat and handed it to her, appearing to not want to lose herself in the moment. Hermione gestured to the seats in the parlour for Fleur to sit. As soon as she turned to do so, Hermione turned to the coat rack and inhaled a sick amount of the scent of Fleur's coat, _chocolate, _before hanging it up and hurrying after the woman so as to not seem suspicious or, worse, mad.

Hermione wondered exactly why it was that Fleur was choosing to not say anything. Her being nervous seemed rather outlandish, but that would explain the erratic breathing from before. She walked right past the couch that Fleur was sitting on and chose to place herself nearly on the opposite end of the room; not too much distance, but a safe amount was in between them. Hermione was extremely unsure as to exactly how comfortable Fleur was, but she took it as a good sign that the woman wasn't crossing her legs or arms. Her posture was as perfect as ever as she continued to sit, but her eyes were wandering; most likely familiarising herself once more with what Hermione considered to be her home as well.

Fleur seemed to be eyeing the television some distance to her right with a strange fascination. Hermione recalled Fleur eyeing it before when she first came to visit and smiled reminiscently. She didn't hesitate to speak on the matter so as to keep as much awkwardness as possible from pervading their already delicate surroundings.

"Do you know what that is?" Fleur shook her head and continued to stare at the contraption, and Hermione smiled even more. "It's a television. They project transmissions of recorded shows, movies, news. Muggle things, they are. I do recall you telling me you never took Muggle Studies. Perhaps you should have…?"

Fleur slowly turned her head to face Hermione once more and adjusted her gaze. Hermione kept smiling for a moment, noticing the way Fleur was quite literally staring blankly at her. Only when Fleur blinked several times and looked away with a slightly frustrated look on her face did Hermione's smile crack; the woman had no idea what to do, what to say, how to behave; she'd lost it all.

Hermione ignored the similar crack she felt in her heart and sighed. She wasn't prepared for this, but that wasn't what was adding to her discomfort – Fleur was clearly uncomfortable being around her. Hermione wasn't sure whether to be angry or to be angry for wanting to be angry, but figuring out her feelings at the moment would get her absolutely nowhere.

"Would you like a—" Fleur ripped her gaze back to Hermione, almost to sting her for doing something that she could sense was going on. Hermione was taken aback by the gesture and cleared her throat unnecessarily before forgetting about the tea and moving on to something else, "Fleur, I can't understand you if you don't _tell _me anything. I can understand Friday night and even just now over the phone, but you came to see me, probably with the intention of talking things out. As much as I wish I could, I can't read your thoughts."

Still nothing. Hermione scowled inadvertently and rubbed her face in her still sweaty hands more out of frustration with herself than anything. She knew that she needed to be patient and understanding of Fleur's conflicting emotions, but her insides were screaming for answers and to get the answers by, preferably, screaming. She heard a small hiss in her head to ignore being polite and to seize the answers she so desperately needed in any way she desperately needed how. Taking heed was the only possible option for how broken she realised that she was, most especially at that same moment she placed her hands back in her lap and saw Fleur giving her a hard, scrutinising look.

"Is this some game to you?" Hermione hissed impatiently. Fleur showed no sign of acknowledgement, and Hermione hit the arm of her couch in annoyance. "_Goddamnit, Fleur!_ Do you know how frustrated I've been _all this time?_ Frustrated, and just plain lonely and miserable? Our friends think that I get up to writing elegies and moaning in agony every time they leave me alone because of…because of _this! This _being _you and me. _But the way you're acting makes me think you no longer want that! Not even a hi a _Hermione _or anything! You've not said anything and you expect me to know how to think of you?"

Fleur still said nothing. Hermione pulled at her hair and let out a heated breath before slamming her fists down at her sides at Fleur's silence. She understood that Fleur had gone through a completely terrible trauma, but she didn't take kindly to being fooled with, even if it was _her. Fleur _who was still giving her a hard gaze and an extremely hard time by saying everything and nothing at all with her silence.

"Honestly Fleur," Hermione sighed irritably, "this _isn't _a _game. _I don't know what to say if I don't know what you're feeling!" Fleur gave her a look that Hermione took to be a sign to simply say anything she wished; a sneer was there on her striking face. Hermione stood and balled her fists at her side and stomped her bare foot in some empty gesture of anger. "Yes I've been royally _pissed off _at things, at myself, but not at you. But the way you're acting is making me rethink the latter part, I hope you know that.

"I understand that you've been through hell and back and that I'm probably not helping matters. But you're _not _the only one who's gone through a shitty four years thanks to things that we had no control over. I just don't think you realise that your silence is pushing my buttons more than ever tonight because you didn't even _look _at me before…before you were put away. That's…that's why I'm so angry…not because of _you, _so to speak…"

When all Fleur did was purse her lips and roll her eyes, Hermione immediately stormed over to her and stood directly in front of her with hot tears in her eyes. Fleur watched them brim; she boiled the water even more and made Hermione's eyes sting with the absence of the softness that should have been in her own. Hermione bit back a scream and ignored the near artificial orgasm she felt from her blood pressure rising and her passions oddly rising at a directly proportional rate; it was all so backwards.

"What _is it with you? _I can't fix this by myself!" Hermione threw her hands in the air and groaned loudly when Fleur only continued to stare at her without so much as flinching. "I can't make it all go away in one night, if that's what you were expecting! I can't hug you and cry because you're supposedly too hardened for all of that! I _can't_ do this and I _can't _do that, and you just _won't _speak to me for what_ever _fucking reason!

"Are you scared to talk to me or something? What have I ever done to you? Once we became friends, have I _ever _done anything to hurt you on purpose? _No, Fleur. _You're _not _the only one upset, and I _want _to _help _you; I _want _to _be here _for you, but your silence is hurting me! Do you understand? I can't just ask you to hang up on me this time if you can or cannot, Fleur! I've wanted you back so badly that it's cracked me in pieces; I don't know _how _I'm still able to stand, but I've kept going _because _of you!

"I've missed you like hell, cried I don't know how many times over you, had to have therapy from your cousin for all this time because they thought I'd go mad, gotten angry at myself for even _thinking_ for a _second _that I needed to just move on, had nightmares about you every night, nearly _kissed Draco_ one night because we were both so_ bloody_ lonely without you, _masturbated so many times _to fantasies I have of us, almost drowned myself in the bath _multiple times, _broke into a fit of sobbing at work on too many occasions… And now…now that you're here I can't express any of this without _yelling _because I've been so _angry all this time! _Are you even_ able_ to speak? Is that the problem? _No?_ Fleur, you _know _I still love you! Do you see this ring? What else do I have to do to prove it to you?_"_

Fleur was still choosing to not say anything. Hermione swallowed the faint taste of blood in her throat and groaned loudly again, but still couldn't bring herself to do anything else. It was liberating to have gotten all of that off of her chest, but more still needed to be done; _too much _more.

Being right in front of Fleur and knowing that Fleur was still giving her her undivided attention, however heated it was, strangely made her feel wanted. Fleur wasn't projecting hatred in her eyes; no, that wasn't it. Now that Hermione was close enough to see, Fleur seemed to be a mirror of exactly what she was experiencing within; tumultuous rage at inexplicable forces, and inexplicable forces creating a tumultuous craze and need and desire for something that did not involve a screaming match at the moment. The mirror reflecting the backwards feel of the moment, her emotions, her thoughts; everything.

But she knew the attractions she felt for Fleur were not backwards; they were the only thing that would always be right in her world. It felt as if the longer Hermione continued to glare at Fleur leering right back at her, the combustions within only continued to grow and grow in magnitude, nearly searing her with a fervent anger that she'd never quite felt in its entirety before. The preludes that she'd felt before were nothing, absolutely _nothing, _compared to what she was feeling and needing to impulse on at that very second. Mere preludes in F minors, suddenly shifting to F majors with a crescendo that was leaving her out of key and needing the hands and fingers and nails that she so desperately craved to keep her going.

And those same hands and fingers and nails seemed to reach out for her just as soon as she fell in to meet them; Hermione nearly launched her body at Fleur and straddled her, and actually felt the bliss of those slightly toned arms wrapped about her form while her mouth went on a second-long search. A search for rosy, full, desirous heart-shaped lips that she'd had far too many glimpses and fantasies of for far too long. Another of glimpse of the lips underneath her own and Fleur's arced body gyrating underneath her flashed through her mind and burned her nicely before she acted on it; Fleur seemed very willing to comply.

Hermione shut her eyes as Fleur did, letting out a long, warm breath on her destination while she took a split second to realise the currents underneath her hands and arms and thighs and waist and chest that were all in contact with what she'd been dreaming of forever, it seemed. Fleur's body had turned to the side and was inching down to the couch with Hermione's hands on her arms, grabbing her to keep herself from falling out in case it was a dream, and letting herself fall into the kiss that she was already spinning and tumbling into without any regards to control or restraint or moving too fast – she was sick and tired of waiting.

And it was all there – the taste, the softness, the want reciprocated, the _need _reciprocated, all in the shape and sound of Fleur's lips and the subtle moan that left them. Hermione drank and searched and drank some more for all of the vestiges of Fleur's voice that she'd been teasingly denied of, longed to hear, needed to hear, all substituted in a pair of lips that she'd never forgotten the feel of. Velvety smooth, exquisitely dangerous in their prodding of her own lips, all wrapped in between a hand goading her head closer and a thigh damning the shorts around her legs. Hermione kept her hands on Fleur's arms in some vague form of communication for restraint. Fleur obliged and didn't increase anything at all other than rewarding Hermione's boldness with parting her lips, begging for entry, with a suggestive arch of her back into Hermione for emphasis.

Hermione took in a deep breath before familiarising herself once more with the warmth and moisture of Fleur's mouth, taking chances to suckle on each of Fleur's lips, eliciting a small moan every time, and prodding at Fleur's tongue with her own. It was wanton and needy, her movements, Fleur's movements; and she didn't care. Her mind and thoughts other than the here and now were long gone; far, far away and she hoped that they'd never return. Fleur's lips, Fleur's hands, legs, hair, sweet breath, perfume, body heat; her presence in and of itself was cause enough for her mind to lose itself. She'd kept too tight of a hold on it for too long, her emotions had been drowning her in stress; she was tired of it all. There was an undeniable, unfamiliar force acting within, helping her along. And she was all too grateful for it, and that Fleur was actually returning the fervour.

"Hermione? Fleur!"

Hermione regrettably snatched her face and body away from Fleur's hold and scrambled into a sitting position while both of her parents shuffled in from upstairs. They both looked positively ecstatic as they hurried over to Fleur, still in their night things, and nearly squeezed the life out of her just as she sat up ever so slightly, crying joyously about how happy they were to see her again. Hermione actually snorted back a horrible fit of laughter at the shocked look on Fleur's face, and she'd nearly forgotten how it felt to _really _laugh. Had Fleur's face not been so incredibly red once her parents finally sat down on the couch opposite them, Hermione may have laughed. It was still a little hard to do, even in theory.

While her parents were busy smiling and staring at Fleur, almost to assure themselves that she was really there, Fleur sat up and fixed her hair and clothes, looking as though she wanted to say something. Hermione wondered whether having her parents in the room would increase Fleur's discomfort, if any remained. It was still strange to even recognise that Fleur wasn't completely in control of herself and that she was fighting with conflicting emotions. It wasn't like her, but after four years of frozen confinement, any normal person would have been a complete wreck.

"Wow…Fleur, it's really you!" Mr. Granger said incredulously. "It's been too long. Really, it has! We've missed you so much! And of course Hermione's missed you the most. Right Hermione?"

"Of course," Hermione said with a small smile in Fleur's direction. Fleur turned to look at her passively, and Hermione felt a warming surge of emotions from simply looking directly into her eyes.

"Sorry we interrupted," Mrs. Granger laughed, "but we heard you shouting and yet we weren't sure what you were saying exactly. Is everything all right?"

"Y-yes Mum, everything's fine," Hermione lied, still looking into Fleur's eyes. Well, _half_-lied. Mr. and Mrs. Granger beamed at them both and nodded.

"So I take it you two talked everything out and all of that?" Mr. Granger asked with interest.

"Ehh…uhm… W-well, you see—"

"No. No, we haven't," Fleur said evenly, now boring her eyes into Hermione's, who looked absolutely shocked that she was actually speaking. Mr. Granger looked puzzled.

"But I thought you said everything's all right, Hermione?"

"It is," Fleur said while Hermione was busy fishing for an answer. Hermione still looked befuddled and lost, added with a tinge of euphoria she was feeling from the sound of that slightly accented husk belonging to Fleur. "We just haven't had the chance to speak, but we're all right. We just got a little ahead of ourselves. Didn't we, Hermione?"

"That's right…" Hermione said with a hint of scepticism in her voice. Only Fleur seemed to notice, garnering a subtle smirk to erase the minor questioning Hermione was going through. "We just…haven't really _spoken, _is all."

"Oh," Mrs. Granger said, relieved. "Hermione, where are your manners? You didn't offer her any tea!"

"It's quite all right," Fleur said with a smile as she turned to face Hermione's parents, noticing the pain she was eliciting from Hermione as she slowly ripped her gaze away. "I think the cup would be distracting."

"Nonsense! Hermione, make the woman some tea. She's your girlfriend for heaven's sake and you haven't seen her in years! Goodness."

"All right…" Hermione mumbled as she got up and left for the kitchen in the next room, feeling Fleur's eyes on the back of her head, or just her back, the entire time before she disappeared behind the doorway.

"So how have you been Fleur?" Mr. Granger asked quietly, but not quiet enough, as Hermione could still hear him as she found a kettle. "You know, since you were released…"

"I don't know, actually." Fleur didn't seem to be trying to keep her voice low, but it wasn't overly loud, either. "It's been rather annoying to go out into the city while nearly everyone looking at me is afraid of my being a Sorceress."

"But I thought they got rid of the possession?"

"They did. For labelling purposes, I am still a Sorceress. A gay one, at that. People really do hate me."

"Oh Fleur, don't worry yourself over it," Mrs. Granger murmured. "People talk."

"I'm hardly bothered."

"We didn't think you would be." Mr. Granger said. "I guess Hermione's more of a target, really."

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone's saying that it's her fault…"

"What?" Fleur sounded completely affronted, and Hermione wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or guilty.

"They've calmed down over the years, but now that you're released, Harry and the others've told us that people _talk _about Hermione, more so than they do about you. It's some big taboo to talk about you, but Hermione's an 'easy target.'"

"It's a load of rubbish, really," Mrs. Granger scoffed quietly. "Fred hasn't told Hermione, but he nearly got assaulted from trying to defend her from a group of people badmouthing her in his shop a few weeks back. It's all so awful…"

Hermione choked back a sob and impulsively began opening and slamming the cabinets loudly while the kettle was going so as to remind them that she still existed. The three of them ceased chatter immediately. She was soon back out in the parlour and handing Fleur her cup of tea, forgetting about what they had been talking about moments before. Fleur mouthed a thank you to her and smiled, and Hermione felt herself blushing while she sat back down next to her. They smiled at each other, and kept smiling; they stared, and kept staring. Hermione's parents exchanged knowing glances and smiled at each other as well. Mr. Granger fought back a yawn before stretching slightly and standing up with his wife. They smiled at Fleur and Hermione one last time before beginning to make their way back upstairs.

"Well it was really wonderful seeing you again Fleur!" Mrs. Granger said. "Stay the night, won't you? Hermione's missed you so terribly much."

"Yes, please do!" Mr. Granger added. Hermione balked and Fleur gave her a coy smile. "We did tell you that this is very much your home, so you're entirely welcome to stay here. We'd love it if you did. Won't you stay, Fleur?"

"Of course," Fleur said smoothly. Hermione felt the same smoothness materialise in the seat of her shorts from Fleur's voice and was not very bothered to hide evidence of this in her face.

"Wonderful! Well then, good night you two!" Mrs. Granger said. Fleur nodded curtly to both of Hermione's parents just as they smiled at her one last time before vanishing up the staircase.

Fleur craned her head back to face Hermione, smiling slightly as she raised her cup to her mouth and took a sip of her tea. Hermione watched her, somewhat in awe, as she continued to sip quietly. She did not slurp at all, and Hermione could still see that her lips were rather swollen. Hermione automatically raised a hand to cover her own mouth and pressed down to assess the state of her lips, but there was no need; from the playful glint in Fleur's eyes, she could tell that her lips must have been the same. Hermione smiled shyly and placed her hand back down, clasping them both in her lap while she continued to stare openly at Fleur's sipping of her tea.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Fleur asked softly after some time.

"E-enjoying…myself…?"

"You appear to be rather pleased with simply sitting there and watching me drink this tea."

"Oh…well… Anything you do pleases me…"

"Mmm…really?" Fleur asked with a quiet interest.

"Really…" Hermione breathed.

"Hermione…" Fleur murmured. Hermione shivered and nodded. "Do you want to talk tonight?"

"I… Yes, Fleur. I do… I've wanted to talk about it for ages… But…but…why didn't you say anything before?"

"I didn't know _what _to say."

"That's entirely not like you…"

"I'm not the only one in this room who's changed." Fleur bit her lip at Hermione's blank staring and set her now empty cup on the table in front of them before turning her body to face Hermione completely. Hermione did the same and was surprised when Fleur took both of her hands in her own. "You look like you've been dying to ask me something."

"A-A lot of things, r-really…" Hermione bit her lip this time as she willed herself to keep looking in Fleur's eyes.

"Let's start with one thing for now, hm? I think I know what it is, since you mentioned it earlier."

"Why didn't you…why…didn't you look…at me… You didn't look at me…you didn't say anything…before you…you… Fleur, you looked so angry and I didn't know what to think…"

Fleur's expression shifted to one of gentleness to an almost pained look; it was as if she was fighting with herself about whether to answer the question with words or with an action. Hermione could suddenly smell the uncomfortable tension shoot through every outlet of the room, and she immediately regretted asking her question so soon, especially with them sitting in a horrible silence for what felt like hours. She couldn't help it; it had been plaguing her for years, causing her more misery than the entire situation was worth. But Fleur didn't appear to want to answer that, or at least she didn't seem to have an answer that Hermione wanted to hear.

"Tell me the truth," Hermione murmured. Fleur took a deep breath and gave Hermione a stern look as she nodded.

"I hated you."

If there was one thing Fleur would always keep, it was her blunt attitude to the point of tactlessness at times. Hermione swallowed and nodded, feeling her heart jump down to the pits of her transgression just before Fleur placed a lithe digit under her shaking chin and lifted her head ever so slightly. Her expression softened considerably, and Hermione was extremely grateful, though her words were so…_Fleur. _

"I hated you, Hermione. There is no other way to put it. I could never admit this to anyone but you, but I was ashamed. My pride had been stolen from me, my life was essentially gone, my independence was null; everything that I'd worked for, including you, was being taken away from me and replaced with ice. It was wrong to blame you. I couldn't blame myself; I don't know how to _do _that. The hatred I felt was…not human… I didn't want you to see me anymore. If it were anyone else, fine. Just…not you. I think it lasted the entire four years up until Friday. That's mostly why I couldn't bear to tell you anything… I was, and still am, so ashamed. I was just like everyone else… I'm sorry."

Hermione lost all confidence in her voice and body, knowing that they'd both betray how she felt and did not feel at that moment in time. Fleur had hated her for years. For years on account of something neither of them had any control over.

_She was just like everyone else._

"Hermione, please…" Fleur pleaded gently. Hermione was giving Fleur a broken, vacant sort of look that was scratching at her expression with the shards of apathy she was feeling. "I know you weren't expecting things to be happy and normal again once I came back. You must have expected some resistance was going on with me at some point. I transgressed during that time. In trying to repent for my sins, I was committing another one hating my…my _almost…_wife. I was going to ask you to marry me that year as you know. But when you showed me your ring and made that promise, I got so angry. Angry because I couldn't live up to having a normal life after Hogwarts, a _happy one, _and instead I had to…

"I know I've been acting strangely towards you, and not at all like the one who still loves you. It's just a little hard for me. I have so many conflicting emotions and thoughts and instincts and I don't know what to follow anymore. Whenever I'm not with you, I feel angry and resentful towards everything, and you; I'm not myself, as I am with you right now. These days that have passed since we last saw each other, I've felt off. I don't even remember what I did yesterday – that's how bad it is."

"Is this hard for you?" Hermione asked plainly. Fleur looked taken aback.

"What…?"

"Talking. Telling me these things. You were never the one doing most of the talking before. But now you're doing it so simply, even about the most difficult of topics such as hating _me. _And you don't even look the least bit guilty. Something's off."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione noticed the fearful flash behind Fleur's eyes and almost laughed incredulously at the entire situation.

"Do you honestly think I'm that daft?" Hermione asked, allowing one laugh to escape her as she did. Fleur's face was frozen with a coat of subtle shock, and Hermione shook her head. "I would have let it go had you not given me that answer or anything like it. I've caught you in something, haven't I? Surely you're not one to prepare speeches, nor do you even _like _to talk. You're not a people person, and I was expecting more resistance from you about _talking _this out. You charmed our parents, but not me."

"Hermione, I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me, Fleur…"

"I'm not ly—"

"Don't you _**dare **_finish that sentence!" Hermione stood up abruptly and let go of Fleur's hand, instead taking to towering over her almost cowering figure and glaring at her. "That's a load of complete _rubbish, _Fleur! How _dare _you start lying to me now! What the bloody hell happened to you? I've spent four years _people watching _to forget about how _I _look to other people all the time, so don't start with me! I watched you as hard as I could back when we were in Hogwarts, when you _first _started acting strangely! And even before that, when _I _hated _you, _I still watched you for years without knowing! I know you! I see you! I _see you, _but this isn't you!"

"Hermione stop—"

"Don't touch me!" Hermione said shrilly as Fleur stood and tried to hold her, not feeling at all intimidated by how much taller Fleur was than her. Fleur kept her head and eyes downcast and shut her eyes the second Hermione spoke up again. "Goddamnit Fleur, I'm _not _some vapid tramp! I'm _not _the teenager I was back in Hogwarts! This _can't_ have anything to do with Voldemort, otherwise we wasted four years of our lives. Now just what is going on?"

"Nothing—"

"'Nothing'? 'Nothing', Fleur?" Hermione spat. Fleur didn't even raise her head. "You look bloody guilty as it is and you tell me_ 'nothing'?_ I don't want to yell at _you _of all people! It's been four years, Fleur… _Four years! _Four years, and I've had to deal with people lying to me in the form of ending their conversations abruptly the second I step in the room because they were talking shit about me! And to see you sit here and lie to my face… God, what the ruddy fuck, Fleur? Even if it's about what colour socks you're wearing or what you're scheming, I _don't _appreciate being lied to! Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Hermione…"

And a long silence ensued.

Fleur still hadn't raised her head, but from what Hermione could see, the woman was blushing furiously in front of her for the first time. Not even with the bi-polar incident many springs ago did Fleur blush at all. Hermione nearly felt herself blushing at the gesture, also for feeling flattered at Fleur's respect, _now, _towards her, and because she'd lost her temper twice in one night; she almost felt akin to scolding Fleur for misbehaving as if she were a child. Hermione sighed and fanned her face to rid the heat and the excess moisture that had been building in her eyes before speaking again, making a point to take her tone down quite a few notches.

"Fleur, please… I'm extremely sensitive to my buttons being pushed or my waters being tested… You ought to remember how to treat me. I haven't aged backwards this whole time, and even if I had, I'd at least be able to tell that you're being manipulative and secretive. Is this my fault?"

"What do you mean…?"

"At least look at me… I'm begging you…"

Fleur winced and nodded before returning her eyes to Hermione's, though her posture's confidence left too much to be desired. To see Fleur in such a state bothered Hermione and shook her own internal posture more than she could bear to comprehend at the moment. Hermione bit her lip and continued on:

"I'm the reason why you were so angry for four years, during which all you could do was either think or sleep in subzero temperature… I've been angry the entire time because I knew that I'd done something to you and I couldn't fix it…and the end-product is this…? This woman here who's doing something…something I don't know and wouldn't have been able to stop had I not spotted the signs… But…I don't even know if you really are. I know I need to take your word for it, but… You can see why I'm a bit more pissed than I ought to be at the moment. So tell me – is it my fault?"

"No Hermione… No one is to blame for this. I've always been this way and I probably always will be, at least by appearance…cold, calculating, manipulative and secretive. I told you I used to be a jerk. You're dealing with someone who's quite mad… Mad in the crazy and angry senses… Having been possessed and separated from you didn't help matters. You've suffered…I couldn't stop it… And I hate the world for putting you through this."

"The world…? Fleur, it just _happened… _It came tumbling down and ran us all over and there was _nothing _we could do to run out of the way. Please don't be angry…"  
"I _am… _Just like you were angry for things that were out of your control, and still are, so am I."

"But what does this have to do with…this? This, here, now, _us? _What does the world have to do with us? I've been holding on for _this moment; _I'm here, _you're here _and we still love each other– that's all I've wanted all this time… I'm satisfied now."

"You deserve more than that…"

"What…? Fleur that's very sweet and everything, but…"

Hermione felt a very distinct pang telling her to shut her mouth for the time being and to simply observe. Her heart was fluttering incoherently, telling her that she was feeling grateful but that she also ought to be at least a little apprehensive about exactly what Fleur was or was not trying to tell her. She watched Fleur finally bring herself up to full height, filling her up with the comfort she'd been so desperately seeking just from her confidence alone. But the myriad of vibes she was receiving from Fleur's subtly changing expressions alone was cause for alarm – shifts from slight contemplation to gentleness to a sincere smile and back again. Not once did Fleur sneer or frown, but Hermione was still concerned.

"Do you want to finish that sentence?" Fleur asked with concern of her own. Hermione shook her head. "I'm sorry again…but I promise you I'm not up to anything. I was just…frightened…by your reaction. It reminded me of that night we were duelling in the rain and…"

"I understand Fleur…it's fine… But…perhaps we should prep for bed…it's nearly dawn I presume."

"Mmm…you don't have work, do you?"

"No." Hermione sighed, somewhat glad that the subject had changed. "I quit a few months back…late April actually. I couldn't focus anymore. I…well… You know… Do you…have work…?"

"No. No one would hire me, anyway." Fleur looked completely unhurt by this, and Hermione winced for her.

"It's _me _they won't hire… Mr. Weasley had to plead my case extensively before the government even hired me. Dumbledore's told everyone that we're not to blame, but it seems as if only those who went to Hogwarts with us, some of their parents, and the younger population now doesn't blame us. It's the older wizards who're off their rockers about this…"

"It's probably because we're lesbians, Hermione."

"Probably…" Hermione smiled at Fleur's good humour, but the light-heartedness was fleeting; Fleur seemed to sense it as well and frowned sadly. "Well…we should go to sleep."

"I'll sleep down here if you'd—"

"No!" Hermione blurted out as soon as Fleur was about to sit back down. Fleur blinked several times at her and stood up straight, waiting. "No… Please…we can share my bed. If…if that's all right with you…"

Fleur nodded and stayed quiet as a signal that she'd follow her. Hermione nodded back and was about to make her way up, but she noticed the cup still on the table. She was about to bend down to pick it up and place it in the sink, but Fleur did the latter for her with a simple flick of her arm and wrist at the cup and towards the visible sink in the kitchen. Hermione stared at her for a moment with Fleur looking back down at her vacantly. It was just another strange feeling that Hermione felt, and she shook it off before walking out of the parlour and upstairs with Fleur right behind her.

* * *

This was the first time that Fleur had seen her room, and Hermione didn't even think twice about all of Fleur's things about the walls and shelves. Hermione walked over to her dresser after Fleur began to remove her boots, searching for Fleur's nightshirt that she used to always wear, not noticing Fleur looking about the room interestedly some yards behind her. It was rather similar to how her Head Girl dorm was in the Slytherin dungeons, except without the drear and draft of being underneath an entire body of water.

Just as she found the familiar cream shirt, she closed the drawer and turned back around, finding that Fleur was smiling down at Crookshanks slinking himself around her ankles. Hermione smiled as she walked over to them and shooed her cat away, and then handed Fleur her nightshirt, now realising that Fleur would have to remove her _current _clothes in order to put the shirt on. She'd seen Fleur in the nude before, but that was _before. _Hermione felt a burning apprehension about the situation that was showing itself in her face as Fleur raised an eyebrow at her.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Fleur asked evenly.

"N-no… I…"

"I'll turn around if you'd like. I'll even hang my clothes up myself."

Hermione couldn't find it in herself to protest. She instead did several double-takes before she realised that she looked idiotic, and immediately scampered away from Fleur and lay down on her side underneath the duvet.

Before she could register what else was going on, she'd peeked above the duvet and stole a glance that turned into a gaping stare of Fleur with her back to her, removing her shirt. She almost felt her surroundings being tilted from an internal vertigo; after fantasising for so long about Fleur's skin alone, it was difficult to simply watch the woman remove her bra some yards away from her.

The bare skin of Fleur's back was glowing in the moonlight along with the faint golden tinge of her own natural glow, accented by the sheet of hair that ended just past her shoulder blades. Hermione felt an excruciatingly strong urge to knead and massage Fleur's back, especially once she bent down after removing her pants. It was becoming increasingly hard to fight back the desires, especially after taking in just how endless Fleur's legs truly were. Endless, slightly toned, glowing, luminescent… Hermione began to take in Fleur's entire backside while she was preoccupied with unbuttoning her shirt. She'd certainly filled out a bit more over the years. Curvaceous was an obvious adjective with which to describe Fleur; her beauty and grace had only matured over time.

It was captivating to listen to her sheet of hair swish about her back as she moved the slightest bit the entire time, listen to her calm breaths, and hear her shift her footing every now and then. Her neck her shoulders her arms her forearms her hands her nails her back her waist her hips her thighs her legs were all so incredibly, effeminately strong that it was driving Hermione mad. She was being rude by staring so openly, and Fleur could have turned her head at any moment, but she didn't care – she needed to watch, to study, to observe…

Once Fleur finally committed the sin of covering her body by putting her nightshirt on that still ended just at her thighs, Hermione retreated her gaze back to the safety of the corner of her room by the window in plain view. She tried to pretend to be asleep once she heard the soft trepidations that were Fleur moving back to the bed from the closet. But her eyes shot open once she couldn't see the moonlight from her window shining on her through her eyelids, and gasped slightly when she found Fleur bending down with her face in some, not close, proximity to her as she held the ends of her shirt with both of her hands, looking at her softly. Hermione swallowed and looked at her questioningly before Fleur spoke gently.

"I'd like to sleep on this side if you don't mind."

"Oh… How come?"

"It's closer to the door. To protect you." Fleur tilted her head in the direction of the closed door a distance to her right behind her. "Just in case."

Hermione bit back any possible babbling gratitude she had and could only smile as she moved to the left side of the bed. It hit her as Fleur slipped underneath the duvet with her that Fleur had always slept on the side closer to the door when they were at Hogwarts, and even at the Burrow during the winter.

Still, there was a large, awkward space between them, and Hermione wasn't helping matters by being on her side, facing away from Fleur. The silence was ringing terribly in her ears, stinging her with the echoes of her ripped desires; there were so many possibilities now that Fleur was actually there with her after so long, but she was too apprehensive to seize on any one of them. She turned her head to see how Fleur was faring, and she was also on her side, not facing Hermione either. Hermione hated the distance and wanted all too badly to close it, but it felt so strange. Almost surreal to a fault.

The fault made it nigh impossible for Hermione to sleep at all, let alone close her eyes. She continued to lay there for hours, wondering if she'd made a mistake by not at least telling Fleur good night, or making it clear that she was aching to be held by her. Aching to be held, to listen to her breathe; to bask in the reality and the reminder of what it was like to be protected, and not by just laying on a certain side of an unfortunately spacious bed. Wondering and wondering why she couldn't act on the force of her thoughts and heart telling her to hold Fleur was not doing any good, nor was wondering if Fleur was also completely awake over there.

Her racing thoughts that morning ranged from what Fleur was doing to what it would be like to be doing Fleur at any given time, and whether she even wanted it. The thought of sex was incredible, but it was not incredible to be realising time after time during those hours that she normally would have been masturbating to mere fantasies ravaging her mind and her body. Fighting the urges was impossibly hard, as was being in bed with the very woman of her twisted desires. She fought with herself, wondering if she should just do it. But Fleur would hear her… If not, then she might wake from smelling something.

Hermione bit back a frustrated growl and ignored the churns and burns in her stomach for her hand to do something. Fatigue was not upon her at all, and she'd become so incredibly flustered that she was too warm underneath the duvet, which also had _Fleur _underneath it.

After trying for the umpteenth time to dismiss the possibility of masturbation, she wondered if she ought to chance at least holding Fleur from behind and burying her face in the backside that she'd craved for hours ago. She turned her head briefly and couldn't bear to look at Fleur, and instead noticed that the sky was beginning to take on a subtle orange glow; the sun was rising, as were her desires. She damned them in her mind as she resumed her original position, but couldn't keep her voice from betraying her.

"Fleur…?"

"Hermione…"

"Y-You're awake…?"

"I've been awake all this time, listening to your erratic breathing and minor tossing and turning."

"Did I wake you…?"

"No, you didn't. I suppose I'm not very sleepy. I'm tired, but I can't sleep."

"Oh…"

"What's been on your mind, hm?"

"I've just been wondering…thinking about how _surreal _this is… You're here…you're _really _here… All I've been able to do for so long was dream about you, think about you, breathe about you… But I don't have to _just _do that anymore… And I don't know how to handle it…"

"Tell me more…"

"I've been praying for you…every day…every night… Praying that you'd be all right, and that you could be free again, even if you couldn't love me anymore… Fleur, I can't tell you how badly I want for you to be happy… I've wondered whether I'd be good enough for you anymore, or whether I'd know how to behave with you and treat you… So hours ago when I thought I'd lost it all, I got angrier than I ought to've been… I'm so sorry…

"When it comes down to it, I blow my top when I think I've lost control. I believe you when you say you're really not up to anything – I don't know how I could even think that you were. And if you were, it sounded like it was for me and not against me… I was afraid that it was against me, as if you'd gone and begun to manipulate me into thinking that you still love me but you just want revenge… _Please…_that could never be it… Tell me right now if it could be and…and…"

Speaking, thinking, and keeping her face dry was difficult; Fleur had moved to hold her from behind, and buried her face in the crook of Hermione's neck. Fleur was simply holding her as she always had; her body always caressed the contours of Hermione's so well, almost too well. The truth that Fleur was the one who had moved first was bliss and pain at the same time. Both of them mixed together sent off explosions, making her body wrack with spasms and seizures and sear her eyes as white hot rivulets fell from them. Solely _needing_ Fleur's touch was not adequate to describe her needs. It had turned into a want and need and desire and yearning and a very staple of her life that had melded into an involuntary act. Involuntary and wholly inevitable.

"Keep talking to me Hermione," Fleur murmured. Hermione shivered on top of the spasms from the vibrations throughout her skin that were soaked of the sweetness of the cadence of Fleur's voice; her skin drank all that it could in hopes of restoring the glow it once had years ago.

"And if it were against m-me…I'd still b-be with you… I c-can't leave you, Fleur… N-no matter what…not now, n-not ever…especially not after the hell I've been through… The truth is that you could take advantage of me and use me and whatever else as long as it's not outright…and I might turn a blind eye to it because I'm afraid of leaving you… I've been afraid of that situation ever arising…afraid of spending one more cold night without you… You've turned into a psychological _need _for me…and I'm not scared of that… I'm afraid of m-myself… Of another vision of being alone again… I know I sound needy and insecure, but I can't l-lie to you…

"I'm bound to you by the ropes and chains that no one and nothing made but me and my fears. But I know that I can't deny your happiness… I just… Time has fooled me into believing in the mere possibility of me losing you, even if it's not your love. If I lose the hold I have; the understanding and complete, correct vision I have of _you, _then my balance is lost and only you can fix it… No one else can… I thought I'd lost it when you didn't look at me… Our parents, Draco, Harry, Ron, the rest of the Weasleys, my other friends, Chanel – none of them could ever fix it, and they learned the hard way… I've gone mad in such small ways…and I need your help… I need…control…knowledge…stability…_you…"_

"I still love you, Hermione. You need to realise…that everything you just said applies to myself as well… You are…so many things for me… I know I said I hated you, but I wasn't really _myself _during that time… Sometimes I get the feeling I'm still off, still _different, _still possessed…but I was off because you weren't with me and yet the mere thought of you could still turn me on…

"I was different because you weren't with me to make me feel the way I was before back when I was happy and no longer an outcast… And you do…possess me… You…do… Your emotions possess me… And… I don't know… There are so many things that I feel but can't put into words… I just need you to _be _for now. I'm here."

"You're here…"

"I'm here… I'll be here no matter what. I promise."

"But where is 'here'…? Where, exactly…? Your presence, sure, but…"

"You mean a place?"

"Yes…a place to go, to find you if I lose my way. And for you to go if you lose yours."

"Mmm…how about Hogwarts? I wonder if my field of flowers is still there."

"It is… I've gone there just to sit for hours on end too many times."

"All right then. I promise to be there… You can bring this, too."

Fleur moved one of her hands from underneath the duvet and revealed the same feather Hermione had tossed to the side the previous night. Hermione gathered from the water smooth kiss on her shoulder that Fleur knew exactly what it was. She felt bad for having been so angry at things, including Fleur, but the woman had been struggling for the longest with herself…something that Hermione hadn't thought to even take into consideration.

Before Hermione could express her gratitude, she could only smile instead; by the deep sounds of Fleur's breathing, she surmised that the woman had fallen asleep. Hermione watched their shadows dance on the wall a distance away from her, feeling a large weight off of her entire body, replaced with the calm aura of Fleur instead. It was enough to finally put her mind at ease and her eyes equally so.


	5. smaerd ecins

_i heard a wind chime ringing  
while I was on my way to you,  
and I stopped to stare at it,  
wondering how it was able to play  
the same melody I have  
saved in my heart for you. _

_**v. **__(s)maerd ecin(s)_

_(nice dream without the S's spelled backwards; smeared essence with the S's read forwards)_

Friday, August 16th

_Trapped in the void of her own transgression, the abyss of her own volition that was pitch black, and yet she still believed it all to be a nightmare, but wondered just how it hurt so badly. It struck the very cores of her being, yanked at the chords of her mind and heart and voice, making her go mad, making her have an epilepsy, making her scream for no one to hear in Hogwarts that night. The night Voldemort was supposedly defeated, but only bodily – the soul was most important, and he thought Fleur's body to be useful. And in that body reined a soul that was trying desperately to take over, but to no avail, despite its tremendous, murderous efforts._

_Her breaths were raspy and not her own – she breathed the stench of blood and death as she remembered it. Breathing and blood flow and thinking was something she wanted to all stop, for it kept her alive to see the painful recollections. They hurt so much to the point of making her smile with each one that passed through her mind, first as a white hot flash that stung her and made her writhe. The speed at which they all hit her made her feel a revolting amount of motion sickness on top of the searing headache from the traumas being splintered out of her open mind trying too hard to close its wounds. The memories continued to bleed from her, the screams continued to rip from her bleeding throat, and her crimson voice could only continue to moan one name over and over again –_

_Hermione._

Hermione? You love her, don't you?

Don't you?

You weak fool. Love is for the weak…

_Her body continued to lock up and loosen again, only to send her shaking and squirming and going into a fit of spasms once more. Her same body flew with the wind of the recollections, jerking about in the same directions as the memories went – she desired to keel over and vomit red just as her parents had done thanks to her. She needed to curl up and cower once more just as Lucius mocked her in his home for initially being so weak and pitiful. Not even the sanctuary of remembering how it felt to hold Hermione hours ago could help her; every memory of Hermione only seemed to scald her even more, send more bile to her throat, and constrict her same stopped-up throat on and off and on again._

So weak…so…vulnerable…

Do you want to kill me, Fleur? Just like you killed your family?

Don't you want revenge against the world for making your life hell…?

_Memories of her sister were cut short by scathing remarks from Draco; thoughts of teasing children in the orphanage switched to Draco teasing Hermione; the cries and crimson of her home; running in vain away from Death Eaters; failing to protect Gabrielle; failing to protect Hermione; not standing up for Hermione; being controlled by absolutely nothing; Hermione's scowl in her direction… What did it mean?_

It means your weak little feelings get smashed to bits whenever she scowls at you.

You care about her. You love her. She is a girl, but no matter – she is just as vulnerable as you are.

Take advantage of her, Fleur…

Take…advantage…

_Gabrielle's screams and death made Fleur want to rip her throat out so that she couldn't scream anymore. Lucius's laughter made her want to sever her ears and destroy her head completely to stop the echoes. The spasms were nearly breaking her bones and she didn't want to _feel _anymore – death was the solution, but the same madness was telling her to hold on. Her lingering strength was pulling her through, making the illusions subside; she was steadily only murmuring Hermione's name, almost whimpering it pathetically, to call out to her. Call out to her, or to speak to her, making something very clear._

_She still had a purpose in this world that was making her go through this, and Hermione was only further making her feel pain and guilt and shame that she had to hide and bottle up every single day._

You need the upper hand.

Regain control.

Control.

Love her if you must, respect her if you must, but you need control over the weak minds of others.

Seize the day; seize the world; make them all pay.

Hermione is the perfect accomplice for this.

Take advantage of her.

Otherwise…I will.

* * *

Fleur shot up from laying down seconds ago in a pool of her own sweat, breathing heavily and fighting back an impossibly strong urge to retch. Seeing so many people in the room that night nearly made her panic until one of them began ushering everyone out and stayed in themselves. Fleur tried to catch her breath as she peeled her soaked hair from her face and body, watching Chanel shut Hermione's bedroom door and place various security Charms on the door and walls and window for some reason before walking over to the bed. Fleur watched apprehensively as her cousin sat cross-legged on the bed next to her and had her lie back down after drying both her and the bed. Chanel sat in a very silent contemplation while Fleur tried to remember where and when she was.

She seemed to recall going through a loop of what she realised eons ago was her possession that she was able to fight off. It repeated itself over and over again, obviously for several hours considering how many presumably worried people were in the room just moments ago. Her cousin's presence was enough of a sign as well – surely Hermione had panicked and called Chanel when it seemed as if she wouldn't wake. Fleur felt horrible for worrying Hermione, and she wasn't particularly comfortable with thinking of that experience at the moment. Never had her nightmares plagued her so, not until before the sealing and after she began to realise exactly what it was that she felt for Hermione.

"So…you've been asleep since Wednesday morning; it's Friday morning now. Hermione called me when she couldn't get you to wake up. She was crying about how you kept muttering her name and you were having a seizure, almost."

"Oh…" Fleur swallowed loudly and took one last breath to compose herself. "I… I kept having the same nightmare over and over again…"

"Voldemort."

"Yes… The recollection of the, ah, possession…bits and pieces of it anyway. That's what I kept seeing over and over and over again…"

"Fleur…your eyes are amethyst at the moment."

"What? Chanel… Why…why do you look so calm about this…? My…my eyes aren't supposed to be purple! Blue! Blue, not…not purple! What's happening to me and…and why are you smiling?"

"Seems that you've lost control. Shouldn't you be getting it back by not yelling at me…?"

"I…" Fleur's eyes went out of focus for a fraction of a second, shifting from amethyst to blue and back to the same colour. "You know something good that I don't, hm?"

"Something good indeed… Starting…it's starting… So wonderful, cousin."

"Tell me, won't you?" Fleur grinned impishly. Chanel sighed and nodded, grinning in the same manner.

"Hermione…did you kiss her the other night?"

"Why yes. She kissed me first, in fact."

"She did? She did…and you kissed her during your fall in the Atrium as you were reverting back to 'normal'."

"Yes."

"She's already had the agent in her for years then… Supposed Kiss of Death."

"It won't kill her, will it?"

"Supposed, so no. She is just vulnerable to being planted. So when she orgasms, the agent will spread a little more and a little more to the world, waiting to blossom once you plant the seeds for them to do so."

"Chanel…she told me that she masturbates."

"Strange, she's never told me that… So she's had quite a few orgasms…"

"Yes."

"Something different ought to happen once you help her. Spreading more mist, your thrall, her sorrow. Seems that you'll be getting your revenge after all. She's already given the world an invisible, silent preview for things. She just needs you now. Something ought to help that along the second time, for the seeds, which I've brought for you."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Shrunken; it's in your purse. Second time only, after getting her to climax once. She's still a virgin, don't worry."

"You're completely sure?"

"She tells me things…you know, ignoring the masturbation. She's probably just too shy to tell me herself." Chanel changed her grin to a passive expression once she lost transmission and noticed that Fleur's eyes had reverted to blue once more. "So yes, you should probably go back to sleep for a few hours."

"I should." Fleur nodded blankly and closed her eyes. "Tell them to not worry, especially Hermione."

"Certainly, Fleur. Certainly…"

* * *

Hermione sat in the parlour late that afternoon amongst much appreciated company; Fleur was still asleep, and Chanel had come out hours ago, kindly suggesting that none of them disturb her. Hermione had urged Chanel to stay, needing answers to the questions ravaging her mind, but the woman left, claiming to be very busy with work-related issues and Disapparated. This was rather strange, as Hermione could always count on her Therapist to be there for her when she needed her. It was also extremely strange that she'd heard the woman cast security spells around her bedroom right after shooing everyone out that morning.

Now, Harry, Ron, Draco and Ginny were with her, despite having missed work that day. The twins couldn't escape their work, nor could her parents, and Hermione had asked that no one inform Mr. or Mrs. Weasley; she didn't want to burden them. Hermione was very grateful for her friends' concern, but it was difficult for her to express her own concerns that day.

She felt rather ostracised from her friends, and it took until that afternoon for her to truly realise just how much of an outcast she was – Harry and Ginny were happily engaged, Ron finally managed to find a woman who fancied him, and she was the one who was still dealing with such obtrusive issues in her life despite having found the woman she loved years ago. Draco seemed to be the exception, but he and Hermione never spoke of exactly why he was choosing to be so reserved for the most part. Though it may have had something to do with what he explained to her years ago, or possibly something else. Hermione made a mental note to ask him before tuning back in on the conversation her friends were having, Draco included.

"The Tornadoes may actually beat us this season," Ginny said, "but I don't know about you two."

"We'll pull through," Ron boasted. "Us Cannons've always been hard workin'. You Harpies're good though, I'll give you that. Just expect to be playin' us in the finals, Ginny. Playin' Seeker 'gainst your fiancé for the Cup sounds might harsh, though."

"Potter's skills won't make much of a difference if you can't even block a Quaffle, Weasley," Draco chided with a glare in Ron's direction. "I've seen your goalkeeping and it's quite lousy. No wonder your team's in low standing this season. I don't know why you keep bragging and talking about bleeding Quidditch as if you're so good at it. Just shut up about it for a change."

"Tch, who asked you, Malfoy?" Ron asked, red in the face. Draco snorted and shook his head.

"He's right you know," Ginny added evenly.

"It's just not very nice to say," Harry whispered to her.

"What was that?" Ron demanded.

"Even your teammate agrees," Draco clarified for him with a sneer. "_And _his fiancée who plays for another team who's actually beaten you loads of times. Pretty pathetic if you ask me."

"Well no one _did."_

"Yeah well—"

"Draco. Ron." Hermione shook her throbbing head at them. "Please, stop."

Draco merely nodded curtly to her and Ron huffed and kept silent. Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples, wondering why every time those two were in the same room they had to resort to elementary bickering. She understood quite clearly that Draco hated the lot, and she supposed that that was his way of showing his distaste with them. Hermione herself never really expressed any disapproval of them that they could see, but she knew that they cared about her _and _Fleur. But for years, she never really cared about any of them in the same way.

As the five of them continued to sit in silence, Hermione wondered exactly when she made the shift from loving them to hating them, with the exact opposite happening with Draco. She felt closest to him, second to Fleur even after so long. Harry and the Weasleys seemed to be nowhere on her list, and she wondered why she even bothered to associate herself with them anymore.

Fleur only did it because Hermione cared for them so, and, now Hermione realised, that she was only doing it now because the woman clearly cared for them as much as she used to. They were her only family. Hermione understood now just how hard it may have been for Fleur to adjust for _her; _to change her entire way of thinking and living and believing for _her. _Fleur had made so many sacrifices, changed herself in a way that she'd come to enjoy, and made such a lasting impact on everyone that she came into contact with.

Perhaps what helped Fleur along, besides Hermione's feelings towards everyone, was a flattery that they all cared for her so much. If Hermione was correct in her sentiments, Fleur not once expressed disapproval of any of them. Ron was a different story, though… It was strange how much Hermione seemed to despise him the most out of anyone. Mainly because of how extremely thick he was, how clueless he was, how horrible he was at knowing when to not talk about Quidditch, and how rude and inconsiderate he could be at times. Harry was just plain clueless nearly all the time, and Hermione no longer felt the brotherly connection with him that she'd harboured for so many years before. Despite all that they'd been through, as the Golden Trio, it was all for nothing. It didn't mean anything if they didn't _really_ succeed in thwarting Voldemort at all…not really.

The guilt of her hatred stung and burnt her, but she knew that they'd never really understand if she told them to kindly go fuck themselves. She didn't know where the hatred came from, besides from the jealousy and resentment, but even those were completely not like her. She'd changed so much over the years, and she wondered if the reason why she could identify so much with Draco now was because she'd turned into him. When Draco insulted Ron's goalkeeping abilities, scolded him for always talking about Quidditch, and berated him for losing to his sister's team on multiple occasions, Hermione wanted to agree. When Draco snorted and sneered and scoffed at any one of them, especially Ron, Hermione wanted to follow suit.

Everything had been bottling up for years. Anguish over Fleur, feelings of loneliness, guilt for always sobbing on Chanel and complaining to Draco, remorse for hating her surrogate family, and absolute shame began to eat at her for even feeling the need to hate and envy and attack her friends and family who'd never done a thing to harm her. But Draco never lied about things; he expressed his disgust as politely as he could to them. He never attended holiday dinners at the Burrow, only to have to pretend to be happy and smile a fake plastic smile whenever someone looked his way. He never tried being polite or nice to Harry and Ron, because he knew that Fleur only put up with them because Hermione did. He knew that Hermione had lost respect for them and was not obliged to go looking for it.

She wished she could be more like him.

"Hermione?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow; she was staring vacantly at him.

"Something wrong?" Harry asked carefully.

"Yes," Hermione hissed through gritted teeth as she turned to face him. Draco smirked knowingly.

"What's up…?"

"You…us…_all _of you…"

"Come again?" Ron asked blankly. Hermione felt a surge of irritation from his vapid tone and whipped around to face him as she stood up and balled her fists at her sides.  
"I'm entirely _sick _of…of you!"

"M-me? What did _I_ do?"

"Oh I don't know Ron!" Hermione said exasperatedly, ignoring the fear smeared all over his face. "Haven't you noticed how irritated I get with you? How _every time _you say something, I look the other way and try to ignore it? I went off on you the other night because I'm tired of you and your antics! The absolute _worst _part is that you don't even know you're doing it!"

"Well how'm I supposed to know if you don't tell me...?"

"I'm_ telling_ you right now! Can't you hear properly?"

"Y-yeah but why d'you have t'yell about it? I've ears that hear just the same as yours do!"

"You don't have _eyes _that see the same as mine do! You never did! You never did, Harry never did, the twins never did, Armand and the others never did… it seems like the only ones in here who actually have tact and a pair of _eyes _are Ginny and Draco!"

"What the hell Hermione!" Ron stood and glared down at her, but Hermione didn't falter at all. "You know I'm no good at lookin' out for signs that you never even put out in front of me! An' even still, I'm your best friend! If something's wrong you oughtta be perfectly fine with _telling me _what the hell it is! Don't just spring this screamin' match on me outta nowhere!"

"Ron, do you honestly think that I enjoy yelling at you? Do you _really think _that I like disliking you? I've been angry for years ever since Fleur had to leave! Angry and jealous and miserable and I didn't want to be around anyone! You forced your presence on me and could never get the hint that I wanted to be left alone! Why would I tell you what I _really _wanted to say? 'Fuck off' sounds harsh to say, but it's what I've _wanted _to say! You wouldn't understand, your family wouldn't understand…

"I've changed! I've changed I've changed I've changed and I don't care! I've felt like an outcast with you all except for Draco! Why do you think I'm always with him or Chanel! He agrees with me! Everyone's moving on with their lives and still dragging the parcel around that's Hermione! You try to be there for me and show me sympathy but it just makes me feel even worse! I couldn't express any of this to you because I felt horrible at what I was feeling for starters! And besides, that's not _who I'm supposed to be! _I'm _not _supposed to be angry at you! I'm supposed to love you! I do and I appreciate you but I still hate you at the same time and I _don't know why!"_

Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself as she looked around the room and surveyed the damage. Harry was awe-stricken and gaping at her, Ginny was paler than usual and holding on to him, Draco was looking at her calmly and Ron was still standing, in a daze almost. Hermione did not want to be around them for their awkward comments of being blindsided, and conveniently remembered that she needed to have been out finding a present for Fleur.

"It's Fleur's birthday tomorrow," she announced, "and I still need to pick up her present. Chanel told me that she ought to wake by evening time. I'm really not comfortable with a party with so many people, as Fleur's still having a bit of a time adjusting. I'll let you know tomorrow what she wants to do. I apologise for hurting your feelings, but this is exactly what I was trying to avoid by keeping it all to myself. I'll see you all tomorrow, maybe."

Hermione promptly Disapparated. She felt better to have gotten everything out, and was surprisingly unfazed by her best friends' hurt feelings from her words. She thought this strange, but Fleur's birthday was of greater import to her at the moment.

* * *

Fleur finally opened her eyes that evening and looked over at the clock on the nightstand next to her – 8:14. She brushed the hair from her eye and was relieved to not feel any sweat this time, and also glad that she'd had a dreamless, restful sleep. Hermione wasn't in the dark room, and she sighed as she chanced getting out of bed, slowly.

Again she noticed quite a few of her old possessions about the room; even her broomstick was mounted on the wall. She also noticed the other night that all of her old clothes were in the closet, seemingly unworn for years but still taken care of. Her awards and posters and lists were also on the walls, as were quite a few other things. A picture on the windowsill caught her attention, and she treaded softly across the room to get a better look.

Inside the rectangular frame sat Fleur and Hermione on the grass by the lake at Hogwarts in the spring, holding one another and smiling. The Fleur in the picture prodded Hermione and pointed out the real Fleur gazing down at them, and the two in the picture smiled warmly at her. Fleur gave them an unsure smile and continued to watch them for a little longer, wondering who exactly took the picture and why it was making her throat and eyes sting. She tried to divert her eyes from the picture, and instead focused on a familiar list near the window – various areas of Paris where she and Hermione had considered moving to.

Fleur kept the list in mind while she turned around and looked back to the empty bed. It was just a bed. A bed where Hermione had apparently masturbated. To her. To them. The thought sent ripples through her legs and weakened her knees considerably to the point of making her stagger back to the windowsill and lean against it for support. She placed her hands at her sides, feeling her nail tap the picture frame and rip another strange, almost unknown craving through her, just from almost touching Hermione in a picture. Touching. _Touching. _Hermione survived four years alone by _touching. _Herself. To her. To them.

Fleur had slept and sweated on the same sheets that soaked of the essence of Hermione before she could. The thought made anger well up inside of her, but it also made her smile wickedly. Knowing that Hermione was now so very in-tune with her body and her sexuality and wants and desires kept coating her lips with a molasses that she nervously kept trying to lick away every five seconds.

The longer she stared at the bed, the more she wanted to do in the bed. Not alone. The bed, the floor, the window – anywhere would do, really, now that she thought of it. Having Hermione anywhere would satisfy her. Having Hermione, giving to Hermione, pleasing Hermione, _screaming _Hermione _for _Hermione, to satisfy her, to make the pain go away; Fleur wanted it. Ignoring it was futile. But she tried; tried as she might as she dug her nails into the wood behind her keeping her stable. She tried to constrict her breaths but they only came out as shallow, hitched, and dripping with a want to permeate the vast unknown excitement that was Hermione and her sex.

Dripping was an adequate word for Fleur. It was a very adequate word, state, _being _for poor Fleur who was trying to fight the animalistic urges she felt. Half of Fleur merely wanted a gentle kiss; the other half wanted a rough and wild lip suck. Another half of Fleur simply wanted to hold Hermione and assuage the pain away; yet another half wanted to hold Hermione during a fuck. Hermione wanted all four of those things, but Fleur feared that she wanted them too.

Feared, because she'd never done half of them before, even though they were supposed to be completely natural. Feared, because such ravaging halves of her wanted such sexual fulfilments that she'd never even considered before, _because _they weren't natural. Not in her sober states… The very truth that she had drunken and sober states even when never having been under the influence before bothered her to no end. The struggle made her sweat, made her limbs tremble, made her mouth and throat and eyes dry because _Hermione_ was not making her sweat and tremble and wet.

She was not the agent making her think and fantasise and visualise such situations. It was something…or someone else. Someone else was making her do this. Someone else was making her dehumanise Hermione, and turn and flip and rock and gyrate her into a mere sexual being whom Fleur aimed to please no matter what the cost. Please her, repay her for her sorrows, and repent for bringing them about in the first place. Fleur wanted everyone to see just how majestic and commanding and esteem-worthy her Hermione was. Hermione deserved everything… Everything she had and everything she didn't have but still wanted to give. Fleur was solely vulnerable with and to and for Hermione; her now wickedly haggard state of being at the moment was testament to this.

Still…they were ever so strange, the urges. They rang in her ears, softly, slowly, just like the footsteps she heard on the carpet, coming towards her. Fleur was trying to conceal her hitching, shallow breaths and trembling limbs, and she succeeded to some extent, regardless of the nearing majesty. The nearing made her shiver and the closing space made the moonlight freeze the sweat over her body that she wanted licked away. Her frail, vulnerable, screaming body that wanted those delicate, effeminate hands to smooth her frozen skin down; sculpt her into a new body, one that would always cater to the body sashaying towards her in nothing but short shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. Her pores were screaming to be incensed and purified with their sounds drifting through the night air, just as the woman continued to drift, sensually, so close to her; nearing, now, not nearly near enough despite the nearness.

Near. She was near. Close. Proximal. She was right in front of her, looking up at her through dark auburn eyes, shaped just as dark and sharp as they were reflecting in the azures above her. Fleur wanted. But Fleur also knew that she was still so afraid; afraid of her other self that had still not been suppressed despite the years of diamond dust that built on her; inside of her. She knew she wanted Hermione's hands to inch closer to her as they were; inch on her, right to her waist.

The want was making the blue deeper, vaster, more expansive, as was Hermione parting her lips after licking them and keeping the husk in her hard gaze. The air between them had congealed with their deep breaths, and Hermione was cutting it with the near spade she had for a tongue and eyes every time she licked her lips or ripped Fleur from purgatory to hell and back again whenever she blinked. Fleur felt the fear build just as the loudness of her moans did that she kept trying to hide and bury and drown in her dry, parched, desert-like throat that needed hydration pertaining to an essence. An essence of Hermione.

"Fleur. I wonder about you... I always seem to have this _power _over you. _I was the one _who got to yell and vent at you the other night while you stayed dutifully silent. I know you hate me. I know you hate me for doing this to you, _possessing you, _and controlling you so...easily... Stop bottling things up. Tell me off; yell at me and scream my name. Or can you even hear me...?"

Fleur was too weak to tell Hermione to stop inching her knee amid her soaked thighs; she had no authority to stand up to the divine power before her. The power that wanted her; the power personified as Hermione incarnate. Fleur wanted that power, to compensate for her weakness, but not to control it. She wanted Hermione to share, though she knew the woman was stingy; such a tease, just as she was with herself and her body and her sex. Fleur enjoyed the loss of control and the vulnerability that at least made her crane her head back as she finally let out a quiet, breathy moan at Hermione's ministrations. Did she even hear what Hermione had just said...?

She continued to bask in the increasing scent filling her senses, the sounds; the fantasies swarming her mind. Though she knew she couldn't; if she let go, she might hurt Hermione. She didn't want that, but Hermione seemed to want it; the way she was holding her close and still keeping her knee going was evidence of this. Clear, plain evidence for her to let go, but she was still so…afraid. Despite the delicious pressure building just over Hermione's knee, she needed to stop. She couldn't stop enjoying it, but Hermione could simply _stop. _Her fear _was _her control…it was her _only _form of control, regardless of how overwhelmingly desirable Hermione was…

And that fear made the illusion stop, only leaving her with the faint, sensual echoes of her guilty, pleasure-laden exhales.

* * *

Fleur opened her eyes and steadied her breathing; her head was thrown back against the window and her body was arched away from the glass, casting a strangely elegant shadow on the wall opposite her. Hermione was not there, nor was she ever there. It was just a dream; a waking dream.

She slowly pushed herself from the window and wiped the minimal sweat from her face, concluding that she needed a bath to calm her senses. Before she could get too caught up in wondering exactly why she was so afraid of herself, she exited the room and went downstairs to try finding something to eat, first. She was hardly paying attention as she was going down the stairs, and once she reached the bottom and finally, _really _opened her eyes, she felt a pang of surprise stab her.

There stood Draco Malfoy a yard in front of her, looking as though he was on his way to the staircase. He hadn't seen her at all since she'd been released, and Fleur now felt the question rise as to why no one had even tried to contact her once her four years were up, and yet they all spoke to her cousin. Moreover, she wondered why in the would anyone would take so long to go collect their girlfriend, even if it was just by accident.

She chose to put the question in the back of her mind for the moment as she surveyed him – he looked very handsome and well-groomed, as she'd expect of someone like him. He was wearing an emerald casual suit with a white tee underneath, as virtually all men in Paris dressed. He was still half a head shorter than her, his hair was still nicely slicked back as it was in Hogwarts, his shoes were not scuffed at all, and his watch was designer and expensive, just like the rest of his attire. But the look on his face…

Draco looked as if he was caught between morbid shock and joy, and even his eyes were somewhat teary. Fleur wasn't sure what to say, or what to do, and she was extremely disarmed when Draco stepped forward to embrace her for the first time in almost fifteen years. It was a surprisingly warm embrace, which Fleur returned as best as she could as she felt her muscles relax.

She remembered quite clearly that he was there to see her off that afternoon, and she must not have had a reason to hate him anymore if he was in Hermione's home. Hermione did mention him a few times, but it hadn't really clicked that they must have been friends until that moment. If they were friends, then he must have helped her through the years. Fleur found that she wasn't bothered by what Hermione had mentioned of the two almost kissing; she understood completely.

Before Fleur could realise that she was actually hugging the man, he let go and took a step back, trying to hide that he was wiping his face. Fleur swallowed a knot in her throat and continued to look down at him, and was about to say something before six arms took their turn to wrap themselves around her and nearly suffocate her.

"Fleur! Merlin it's really you!" Ron bellowed.

"We've missed you so much!" Ginny said.

"Way too much, Fleur. Really we have!" said Harry.

"Hey now," Draco said, fighting back a laugh at the shock in Fleur's face, "you're gonna choke the woman to death. Let her breathe why don't you?"

The three of them muttered their sincerest apologies as they let her go, garnering a curt nod and a smile from Fleur as she caught her breath. They led her further in the parlour to sit, and Ron and Draco sat at her sides on one couch while Harry and Ginny took the couch opposite them. A moment passed with everyone staring at her, almost in disbelief that she was really there. Fleur smiled at them effortlessly, though she felt rather silly, almost like a doll on display that they were ogling at through a store window. She didn't blame them, though.

"Are you all right now?" Ginny asked with concern. "Chanel told us you had a bout of nightmares earlier."

"Yes I'm fine," Fleur said, though she wondered if this really was true. "I didn't have any nightmares when I went back to sleep. I don't even remember what the ones I had were about."

"Oh," Ron smiled, "well that's good news, I think. No gain in rememberin' unpleasant stuff anyway."

"I couldn't agree more…"

"Fleur…" Harry said. She regarded him sombrely. "She's missed you _so _much… I don't think…well… Hermione's…"

"It's true that she's traumatised about things," Ginny added quietly, "but she doesn't regret anything."

"If there's one thing I'll say about her," Draco chimed in, "is that the woman's a lot stronger now. She definitely won't take any shit and she'll say whatever's on her mind now no matter what it is."

"I know…" Ron and Fleur muttered in unison. Fleur regarded him questioningly, and he purpled before explaining.

"Well she went off on me 'n Harry, mostly me, about how thick we are basically. She's been wantin' 'er space 'n whatnot but she was too polite to tell us to sod off. We thought, you know, 'cause she was so lonely that she needed some company to get 'er mind off things. Turns out that she's been mad at 'erself for hatin' us but still appreciatin' our tryin' to be there for 'er. It's weird…"

"I'm surprised she didn't wake you," Harry mumbled. "Still…I had some idea that she was peeved with us. Not Malfoy, Ginny or Chanel, but pretty much everyone else in her life hasn't been much help. I wasn't sure whether to say anything or not…she probably would've denied it anyway… But she's changed…a lot…"

"Has she been upset the entire four years…?" Fleur asked worriedly.

"No," said Draco, "but for about ninety percent of it, yes. She thinks it's running away from her problems to go surround herself with people. We've tried our best to keep her away from alcohol as much as possible, but she already has her own views about getting drunk. No worries about alcoholism."

"But I think there came a time when she got used to it all," Ginny said. "She adapted to the despair…or something. I'm not sure if she wanted it because it was the only thing she had left of you, but I think she's told me something like that."

"Damn depressin'," Ron sighed. "But you're here now… Just help 'er out. She'll be back to 'er old self in no time."

"He's right," said Harry. Fleur smiled at them both and nodded. "So how've you been?"

"I don't know. I try not to wonder about it."

"Any normal person'd gone mad from the pressure by now, I reckon," Ron surmised. Fleur shrugged.

"I don't feel any pressure in regards to society. Just…"

"Just what…?"

"Hermione…"

"How come?"

"I don't…know… I'm still trying to figure it out I suppose."

"Oh," said Harry. "Well if you ever figure it out, we're here for you."

"Thank you," Fleur said sincerely. "I'll keep that in mind. But where did she go?"

"Oh, uh… She…"

"Didn't say," Ginny lied. Fleur didn't see through the lie and merely nodded; she was still somewhat disoriented from earlier.

"Well I take it you've been here all day. Perhaps you all should head home. I was just about to take a bath after finding something to eat."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, it's fine. Besides, it sounds to me that Hermione's still angry at Harry and Ron if she yelled at them."

"She prolly is," Ron sighed. "Wouldn't put it past 'er."

"Yeah," Harry groaned as he, Ginny and Ron stood up. "But it was really wonderful seeing you again Fleur."

"You too," Fleur said truthfully.

Harry, Ginny and Ron smiled and nodded to her one last time before the three of them Disapparated. Fleur sighed and turned to face Draco who was still sitting next to her. He gave her a small smile as he rubbed the back of his head and cleared his throat.

"Yeah…you look like you're doing all right. I'm glad."

"Thank you."

"I ah…take it you don't hate me anymore?"

"No." Fleur shook her head and sighed again. "Hermione clearly doesn't hate you, so why should I?"

"Good point…"

"So why doesn't she, exactly?"

"Well… I came by and visited a few weeks after the ceremony… It was awkward at first but we eventually got to talking on a civil level and whatnot. I apologised, for her sake, and also because I knew you wouldn't want us to hate each other anymore."

"I'm glad. And you were right."

"Yeah…" Draco cleared his throat apprehensively again when Fleur continued to regard him patiently. "I have a, uh…_confession _to make. About Hermione."

"She told me you almost kissed. I don't blame you."

"She did…?" Draco looked taken aback, and Fleur merely nodded. "And you're not pissed?"

"No," Fleur said evenly. Draco swallowed and laughed nervously.

"Shoulda known… You wouldn't care about something like that. Not quite up your alley I take it. I'm glad…"

"Thank you, Draco."

"F-For what?"

"For taking care of her, in a way, all these years. You've matured a lot, I can tell. And I'm glad she had someone with her that I trust."

"You still trust me…?"

"Yes."

"Oh… well…good! Good! Yeah…heh.. I ah…well…"

"Hm?"

"I'd give my life for her you know… And you… You both mean a lot to me… I'd do anything I can to…help you…or whatever… Just…just keep that in mind…"

"Of course, Draco."

"All right then," Draco said with a small smile as he stood up. Fleur stood with him and smiled down at him. "I'll see you around, then. Hermione'll give you my number. Keep in touch."

"You too."

They both moved in at the same time for a short embrace before Draco Disapparated. Fleur sighed in relief to finally have the house to herself, though she wondered about the whereabouts of…her parents. She glanced in the direction of the kitchen and chose to skip eating until after a much-needed bath. Having company to keep her distracted worked quite well, but now that she was alone again, she needed the water to distil her foreign urges.

* * *

The warm water in the loo adjoined in Hermione's bedroom certainly helped Fleur immensely to clear her mind and her ravaging hormones. She always felt completely at ease and able to think clearly while in the water, even if it was just a short shower. Baths were the most helpful nonetheless; immersing her entire body from the neck down in chocolate-scented bubbles and water was the best remedy for all of her problems. Still, it was past ten and Hermione still hadn't returned home yet.

She closed her eyes and began to wonder why it was that she'd begun to feel so strangely whenever she wasn't around Hermione only after seeing her again last week. Before that she was perfectly fine, minus the excess thawing and therapy from her cousin. It was a tedious process to essentially remind her body what it was like to feel again. Chanel had informed her that she ought to be practically immune to the cold after that ordeal, but Fleur still felt in her soul that something was still off. The way she felt towards Hermione when she was alone felt akin to how she was before realising that she was possessed.

Fleur scowled; there was simply no possible way that she was still possessed. The notion was completely ridiculous. What was all that time for? If nothing worked, then it was all a waste just as Hermione said. All those years of thinking, repenting, and practically feeling her lingering passions for Hermione burn the very blizzard surrounding her might have been for nothing. Hermione had suffered for absolutely nothing if she was still possessed! The realisation sent a surge of anger coursing through Fleur's veins, making her nearly tremble with rage and a nourished want for revenge.

Hundreds of days spent with an aching mind, an aching body and an aching heart for Hermione were for nothing. Fleur should have been the master of her emotions; it was _not _the other way around. She refused to believe any other possibility. Trudging through a blizzard while crucified with a horrible, insatiable longing was her punishment, and for what? To not have even been cleansed at all? They should have just locked her in a body of water if that was the case! But that wasn't what bothered her the most – knowing that Hermione had gone through the same toils but in the harsher environment of society and reality ripped and tore at her more than anything.

Still, despite the possibility, Fleur refused to believe it. It was an impossible possibility at the most, and absolutely nothing more than that.

"Fleur?"

Fleur sighed and relaxed her face, opening her eyes as she turned her head to see Hermione sitting on a chair right next to her. Hermione was smiling a bit, already in her night things. Fleur couldn't quite return the smile and instead continued to observe her with many a question and comment on the tip of her tongue.

"Is there something wrong? I'm sorry I disappeared, but the others were still here for you. I just spoke with them."

"I need to talk to you."

"Oh." Hermione looked slightly surprised, and Fleur turned her head back to face forward. "I'm listening…"

"Why did you take so long to come find me? And even then you stumbled upon the place by accident."

"I… To be honest I wasn't sure I'd know how to behave… I had absolutely no idea what to say…despite how badly I wanted to see you… Besides, I was afraid that you hated me…which you…did."

"Even if I did hate you completely I'd still have wanted to see you. I thought you broke your promise and got married to Draco or something."

"No, Fleur… I haven't been disloyal at all, I promise you…and I already told you about the thing with Draco. Aside from that nothing else happened."

"So you spent years…being angry and upset and lonely…"

"…yes but…why are you asking me this…?"

"I spent years feeling the exact same thing, and yet I had nothing to distract me, not really. You…you suffered. You were in pain. You were unhappy…"

"Yes…but I _was… _I _was… _I'm not anymore, honest I'm not. Things are still in transition and need a little getting used to, but I'm ready to move on…with you."

"Do you want to get out of this city?"

"You mean move out?"

"Yes… I was looking at that list of places we were considering moving to after we graduated. I know it's a little overdue, but… I think you need to get away from here, even if's just moving to Paris a few blocks away. It's easier to hide there, I think."

"Are you asking me to move there with you?"

"To our own place, yes… I think I'd like that. Money won't ever be an issue for us, I promise. I still have my inheritance in my vault, assuming you haven't spent it all."

"No, no! Certainly not... I admit I've gone to your vault, but it was only to make sure they added extra security on it. I'd love it if we moved someplace else, actually. Did you favour any place in particular?"

"Mmm…I remember I saw a place right in the centre of the city in the Xarcabard region. I'll show you some time. It's no rush."

* * *

Saturday, August 17th

By the time Fleur finally woke up late that afternoon, she was surprised to find Hermione lying on top of her and peering down at her passively. Fleur raised an eyebrow at her and Hermione could only smile gently as she continued to stay right where she was. Before Fleur could even think to say anything, Hermione whispered something that left her extremely confused:

"Happy birthday, Fleur."

"Hm?"

"It's your birthday! You're…you're twenty-five now."

"I am?"

"Yes… you've forgotten…?"

"I suppose… that and I didn't really age at all in that cold. Time was essentially frozen."

"Time…? But I thought it would just…"

"Mmm…yes, it actually was cold enough to freeze time, thus making it so that I technically hadn't aged at all."

"Oh…so, in theory, I'm older than you now."

"Mhm. Strange, isn't it?"

"A bit…"

"I'd thought about something involving time while I was in there. But you look like you're itching to show me something."

"Am I that obvious…?"

"A bit."

"Yes, well… I thought of taking you someplace where we could be alone…unless you want to see everyone else. It's perfectly fine if you do. I just wasn't sure whether you wanted to be surrounded, or alone, or if you just wanted to stay here for the evening…"

"I'm interested in the place you have in mind, actually. I can see everyone else some other day. You're more important to me than they are – don't ever forget that."

* * *

Later that evening after eating with their parents, Hermione and Fleur were both walking hand in hand down a deserted street in Paris. Fleur was glad to be away from the usual crowd, and was perfectly comfortable with the silence between them. She'd surprisingly never been in this area of the city before, and was trying her best to memorise the paths they were taking.

The part of the city they were in appeared abandoned, as appropriate, and it seemed to only look more and more prehistoric, almost, the further they continued down the road that was gradually turning into a walkway that appeared to be made of bone. Fleur was deeply intrigued by the gradual evolution of their environment; the sky seemed a somewhat lighter blue than the ceiling above them was metres ago, and the air seemed cleaner and almost cleansing, in a way.

There were various structures just ahead that were all made of the same bone-like material. The paths were jagged and uneven, and Hermione navigated them with ease as she continued to lead Fleur to one specific building not too far away. They were soon inside what appeared to be a well-lit, empty house, and Fleur raised a sceptical eyebrow at the old furniture within, but Hermione wasn't stopping there – she was leading her up a spiral walkway that continued to the high ceiling of the house. Fleur was dishevelled by the sight of a rather large goldfish floating in the air in the centre of the spiral, and was about to ask Hermione what the deal was before they reached the end of the walkway, leading to absolutely nothing but thin air. Fleur spoke up about this:

"So where are we…?"

"This is the Forgotten City that the founders created, initially, just to see if their magic was potent enough to mimic an entire metropolis. It looks rather antediluvian because the branch of magic they were experimenting with wasn't strong enough to evolve with the times – it regressed hundreds of thousands of years, in fact. Or perhaps intelligent enough is the correct phrase. Whichever it is…no one's really come to fix this part of the city... It has a certain sentimental value, I suppose."

"Where did you learn about this?"

"The library," Hermione said simply. Fleur smiled and shook her head; she should have known. "Anyway…I've always had this sort of daydream about you carrying me down there."

"Back down the walkway we just came up…?"

"No, silly." Hermione smiled and shook her head at Fleur's confusion. "There's another pathway right in front of us. Carry me…please. Just trust me."

Fleur didn't think twice to trust Hermione's judgment, most especially with the chance in front of her to have a daydream of hers fulfilled. She let go of Hermione's hand and picked her up with the same graceful ease that had always stayed with her, and took a deep breath once as she familiarised herself once more with the feel of those arms around her neck. Fleur continued to regard the end of the path before them with a somewhat sceptical look, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Hermione looking up at her encouragingly.

Doubt was soon expelled as much as it possibly could from Fleur's mind as she walked forward. She was wary of falling, now, and remembered at such an inopportune time that she still had lingering vestiges of acrophobia. Still, she continued to walk to the end of the walkway, and as soon as she stepped down on what was supposed to be simply air, an entire staircase appeared, spiralling out widely and down to a venue that she was afraid of ascertaining at the moment. She continued down the almost transparent blue staircase with Hermione in her arms, and the house that they were once in also disappeared; they were soon surrounded by an endless sky the same colour as the staircase.

Her footsteps sounded like faint wind chimes fluttering in the wake of her awe that she was actually there, carrying Hermione, and making Hermione happy. She occasionally glanced down at her beaming face that was looking around with the awe that Fleur also possessed, but was a little too paranoid to act on. The altitude at which they were at was extremely high, and the stairs themselves weren't very wide at all. She was all the more determined to not slip and fall, and was equally as glad that they both decided to wear their old favourite trainers, black jeans and fitting white T-shirts; she didn't trust her ability to walk in heels down a wild height _and _carry Hermione… The pressure on her shoulders, in her arms and the delicate one on her chest made her feel empowered, but she still had indubitable fears that were prodding at her concentration at the moment.

"Are you still afraid of heights?" Hermione murmured as they were halfway down the staircase. Fleur could only nod stiffly while she continued to watch her footing. "It's all right. You're doing just fine… I trust you."

Fleur wanted to say something in response to Hermione's gratuity, but as soon as she thought to do so, she realised exactly where it was that her feet were leading them – down to another, smaller building that didn't look as archaic, surrounded by an effervescent lake of water. In the centre was an equally sparkling, tall structure that looked similar to an altar, with cylinders rising in succession up from the bottom of the lake, unconnected, acting as stairs of some sort leading to the altar. Hermione gestured to the general area of the centre of the shimmering water, and Fleur promptly set about getting them both over there.

It was rather surreal to Fleur to be having such an experience. The very air about them was so fine and pure, just like the one in her arms, that she could forget about the problems that had been ravaging her mind and heart, even if it was simply for the moment. It was especially fulfilling to have finally reached their destination, and Hermione prompted her to sit on the marble ground with her back against the crystalline structure. Fleur did so, and was rewarded with a wonderful view of the area that they were in, and a small sigh from Hermione. Fleur waited, wondering if Hermione was going to explain the place they were in any further; sure enough after a few more moments, she was right.

"I come here a lot… It's very bizarre to me how they were able to create this place with such rudimentary magic, really. It also strikes me as odd how no one comes here anymore. It's magnificent…"

"It is."

"You're not religious, are you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I'm not either…but I found solace in coming here to pray for you, or just get away from the world. Sometimes I'd come here to read, or think… I visited you, you know. Every day…"

"Chanel told me you had."

"You don't find it creepy, do you?"

"No, not at all… Thank you. But for me…I suppose it was easy to get caught up in despair. I thought about a lot of things. But all that time I spent being angry was wasteful. I think I was frustrated that I couldn't be with you, more than anything…maybe I moulded that into a false hatred of you, of the world... I don't know…"

"Don't worry about that... I'm just glad you're here now. You don't need to be angry anymore."

"But…I still feel horrible that you were in pain for so long. I can't help it. At least you had something to distract yourself with from time to time…I didn't...sort of. I kept wondering about you, and all I _could _do was wonder. I wanted you so badly that it hurt me more than the freezing cold. I'd eventually gone numb to my environment, but not the absence of you."

"…I know… and I'm sorry. I'm sorry that things had to turn out that way, but we're here now."

"But…"

"But what…?"

"There was something else that I'd wondered about, almost to the point of driving myself mad. I kept thinking about my age being preserved because the time around me had been frozen. I was probably humouring myself in wondering about this…but as outlandish as it sounds, I was hell-bent on the possibility of freezing time everywhere to…to…let us be together eternally…"

Hermione said nothing in response; she merely looked up at Fleur in silent conjecture with as much concentration she normally had when reading or writing. There was also a silent curiosity that Fleur could barely spot, but she thought back to what Geneviève had said about Hermione. Her friend was right, completely right, but that foreign agent was at work again, making her want to convince Hermione of..._something_. Doubts and fears and hurt and part of her personality were shed as she spoke up once more.

"Well…" Fleur continued on, "it was just a nice dream, or something… You know…to make up for that time you had to suffer for. It's a great fantasy and everything, but… I don't know. It was just some upscale dream I kept pondering about around the time I was released to keep myself occupied." Hermione was still looking at her in the same manner, seeming as if she were drinking her words with gusto. Fleur smiled gently and kept speaking, "I respect you, Hermione. But from what I've heard, it seems like not everyone shares the same reverence that I have of you. It bothers me…that I have no control over how other people make you feel…

"I… I know that you say I don't need to be…angry anymore… I know. I hear you just fine, and I promise you that I'm not _as _angry… And yet there's this…feeling I have… a feeling to…I don't know…act on this lingering anger I have, that _we _have, and…seize the day and make it eternal. The motivation for revenge is coming from the love I have for you…nothing more. I know it seems strange and impossible, but like I said, it was just a nice dream. Don't worry about it."

"Are you sure it was just a dream…or do you really want to act on it?"

"There's nothing I can do to make it happen. Unless you know a way… I'd love to love you forever, Hermione. But it would be dangerous to make that happen."

"'I'd love to love you forever'… That reminds me of something." Hermione reached in her pocket and kept her hand there, waiting; thinking hard while she continued to regard Fleur carefully. After some time, she let go of Fleur and knelt before her on one knee. Fleur observed her questioningly; her questioning was only accented by the uncertainty upon Hermione's face and perfumed by the hint of red wine rising from her neck... "Fleur…I… I admit I also had another daydream about this place. I understand that our time together was cut short rather abruptly all those years ago…and…well…

"I know it's only been just over a week since we've seen each other again… Not much time has passed at all of us simply reacquainting ourselves with one another…but… I don't think we really need an eternity to become comfortable with each other again… But an eternity to love you…I promise you I'd love that more than anything other than simply having you, even if it was just for today and no longer. It's been nearly five years since we've been friends…four and a half since we've been together…and it's been almost twelve years since we first had that staring match…

"When I sat down and thought about it some months ago, I realised something… I don't think I ever _really _hated you… No… Maybe I loved you the entire time, but I denied myself of the possibility because I didn't think it possible for you to return my feelings. You always looked so…serious. Like you knew, secretly, that you were above everyone.

"Believe me…you were, and you always will be…and yet you always give me the impression that I will always be the one you hold high above the world, even yourself. I'm truly flattered that you think so highly of me…and… I… I want to continue where we left off more than anything. We don't need the awkwardness or apprehension between us…we're above that, right? I still love you and I know you still love me, so…"

Fleur's eyes widened considerably once she finally got to see what it was that Hermione was holding in her pocket – a golden band underneath a cerulean, petal-shaped diamond. She understood completely why it was that Hermione was blushing, and soon felt an illegal amount of heat rush to her own face from the shock she was in.  
"Th-this doesn't have to be official or anything," Hermione stammered quickly, "I just… I wanted to make your first birthday…with me…a special one. I'd been saving up for the ring, and this…this moment, I suppose…for ages. I… I was so choked up when I read what you wrote back in Hogwarts, in that entry, and…that's what I was thinking about when you said not too long ago that you hate not having any control over how people see me…

"You are just…_so…_good to me… And even though I had my doubts, I knew that we would always have an immense love, even though it was interrupted…but the feelings would never go away. I'm not leaving; you're not leaving…so I want you to have this… You've given me one, and now you deserve one from me… Please…"

Fleur could only nod numbly and wonder in awe how it was that she wasn't crying as Hermione gently took her left hand in hers. She could almost hear the tinkling echoes of the ring sliding down her lithe finger, accentuated by Hermione's shallow breathing and the spontaneous combustions going off throughout her own body. Hermione kept their palms together once her task was finished, and Fleur could only find it in herself to stare at the cerulean mirrored back at her; the jewel was just as effervescent and tame as their very surroundings. Fleur was further struck by how what they were sitting on was an altar that Hermione had prayed upon a number of times, for her.

Perhaps it was her lingering detachment to the world that was taking away the sentimental feel of everything, or her own dehumanisation, but she was having an extremely hard time connecting with the emotions she was feeling and those that she could barely feel underneath the rubble of her traumas. Hermione seemed to understand completely and moved in to hold her again, making sure to place a mindful kiss on Fleur's silent lips; Fleur did her best to reciprocate, but the detachment was still there, and the fear of Hermione overanalysing her silence into a sign that she'd made a mistake. Fleur made a point to place her lips over the warm roots of Hermione's tresses just underneath her head, and whispered a thank you that she managed to excavate from the crater of her sentiments. The crevasse still needed filling, but they had plenty of time to work on it.


	6. sesquipedalian soliloquy

___**vi. **__sesquipedalian soliloquy _

___Saturday, August 31__st__, 2002; Delacour residence, Paris, France. _

___The entire house was barely standing, aided by family magic passed down from generation to generation of Delacours. The entire district was uninhabited, avoided – robust claims of the area being haunted kept any prospective residents away. Every house nearby was in shambles; the very air around the buildings reeked of death and destruction._

___Furniture and carpet and marble floors were still partially covered in blood, black now; pictures were destroyed, interior walls had several holes in them, but the ceiling and windows and outer walls were still in-tact. Two pairs of footsteps were silently approaching the supposed reason for the house's haunted state – three decomposed corpses._

___Arctic eyes settled right in on the smallest skeletal cadaver just as the body belonging to the cold azures came to a halt. Right next to her stood an observer behind russet eyes. Both shared the exact same emotion – pure hatred. Hatred of what had happened, hatred of their inability to stop it, and hatred for having survived with such feelings of resentment. And yet, because of the Delacour magic, both felt the hatred settle into a haze throughout their systems, cleansing them, if only temporarily, of the bane of their confusion in the search for their identities._

___Fleur felt the anger and powerlessness and hopelessness of seeing her dead family for the first time in sixteen years turn into understanding. Understanding of what was happening, what had been going on inside of her for those same sixteen years; for the first time in so long, she finally understood just who she was, despite a multitude of questions attacking her still. She turned to her cousin and regarded her with awe – they both had looks in their eyes, giving way to an obvious epiphany that had happened unto them. They both fell to their knees and sat on the floor devoid of blood, trying to read the Light in the others' eyes while still trying to figure out the one within their own beings._

_"__Do you know what just happened?" Chanel asked. Fleur looked even more surprised. "What?"_

_"__You're speaking normally…"_

_"__Normally?"_

_"__Your speech usually has an S word at the beginning of every sentence."_

_"__Oh… Well I don't know about that. But…I'm starting to remember what's been going on with me for the past two years. There's just something about seeing them again…like this…and being here…that's getting to me. Do you feel it?"_

_"__Yes…"_

_"__Are you remembering anything? Anything at all?"_

_"…__possession. Obsession…" Fleur raised her shaking hand and observed her ring. Myriads of memories began flashing through her mind, and the cerulean somehow managed to help her catch it all, analyse it all. "Delamort. I… Chanel, who…am I…?"_

_"__You're…still possessed…"_

___Fleur couldn't find it in her to say anything at all. She suspected it on various occasions, and not just that night before her birthday in the bath. Her cousin's carefully concocted response to her question left her broken, and if it were with anyone else she wouldn't have made this fact known. She craned her neck to look at the remains of her family through hollow eyes, still analysing the fragments of memories scratching at her mind and filling the gaps of her bouts of memory loss. Scheming…time…eternal love. There were so many excuses to not believe the possibility before, but hearing the one person she trusted the most next to Hermione tell her made it seem so…true. So true, so unavoidable, so indubitable to her existence…_

___As she continued to watch the motionlessness of the three before her, she was keenly aware of the crisp smell of blood in the air, of death, of wanting a purpose fulfilled – the sealing process had been carefully exacted to her, and she memorised it and went over it the entire time she had been sealed. Her _soul _was supposed to have been frozen, and Voldemort was supposed to have been chipped away from her eventually, leaving her unable to wake for several months. But she was keenly aware of being awake for near months on end at times, thinking and scheming and wanting Hermione more than she'd ever wanted anything before._

___She had no validation that the procedure had actually gone through correctly. She had no proof that she was cleansed, except for finally feeling it right then. She hadn't felt so _clean _in sixteen years, and yet realising that she was still possessed even after the frozen hell made her feel completely idiotic. The idiocy turned into helplessness, disabling her from wanting to scream and shout and scorn invisible entities. There wasn't any point in being angry or showing her anger, but she felt a tear right down the middle of her. _

___Realising it all after the fact, after so long, after nothing else could be done, was useless. Worthless. Pointless. Utterly ridiculous._

___Just like her existence; housing the Dark Lord just as her old home was still housing her dead family and the stench of death and decay that went along with it._

___Fleur took a moment to realise that, in her bout of weakness, she had leant over and had her face buried in her cousin's neck. Her face that was wet with the tears of her frustration and hopelessness and apathy was actually in a place of comfort; she had actually sought out the comfort of arms wrapped about her shaking form. Every tear that left her made a bout of hiss-like laughter ring in her head to go along with it. And it wasn't long before the rivulets turned into waterfalls and the segments of laughter turned into a symphonic ringing of her ultimate demise._

___And what was worse was how accustomed she had been to the feeling of possession. It had never occurred to her to discern what it was like to be possessed and to not be possessed, simply because of how normal it was to be who she was – possessed. The occasional, overpowering craving for suicide, to push others away, to be isolated, to hate – that was the part of her whom she recognised as herself, fighting against her other self. _

___But wasn't there another one that was so kind and caring and gentle and understanding of everyone and everything to forget about her other selves? And there was yet _another _one that was so weak and vulnerable; the one that Hermione had exploited to bring out Voldemort in the first place! Yet another Fleur surfaced at this juncture, scorning Hermione for shedding light to her confusion of identity, but another berated _that_ Fleur and brought out the selfless woman whom everyone admired. _

___There were too many personalities…no cohesion…no hope…no need to keep living…_

_"__Hey…Fleur, listen," Chanel said carefully over Fleur's crying. Fleur calmed her dirge slightly and nodded feebly, still crying. "You're not the only one who's realising something huge… But I don't think you're weak for crying, alright? Just…just tell me what's going on in that head of yours…"_

_"__Is it even _m-my _head?" Fleur stammered angrily, feeling her face burn with the branding of her lack of validation. _

_"__It is… Why would you think otherwise…?"_

_"__It's V-Voldemort's, isn't it? Voldemort this, Delamort that; Hermione this, Hogwarts that – what exactly is left of me…? Where am I…? And yet…here I feel so pure and cleansed and yet so vile because of everything I understand. It's like he's been controlling me m-my whole life… My life, or his…or hers… Hermione's…"_

_"__Hermione?"_

_"__Yes Hermione! She… She made all of this come out… Without her I wouldn't _be _like this. I'd be on my own somewhere, perfectly oblivious to everything and in my own world where at least I'd be fooled into thinking that I have a self! But even then, what am I saying? I love her but I don't know who to blame or if blaming is weak or why I feel the need to do it! And all of these split-personalities of mine that keep flashing and making me switch between happy or angry or loathing of everything or loving of everything… I'm supposed to be angry and scathing and strong…but that's who _I'm _supposed to be, not who I'm _supposed _to be…"_

_"…__you don't have split-personalities. Trust me… You have _emotions _just like everyone else. And yes, I _do _mean you. People can't be happy all the time, even if they are ignorant – you'd eventually wonder why you feel so off."_

_"__Then make me stop feeling…"_

_"__No. I can't do that—"_

_"__Kill me…"_

_"__Fleur, no!—"_

_"__I said KILL ME!" Fleur snapped her head up and shook Chanel violently, digging her nails into her skin while still crying and demanding murder of her oddly passive-looking cousin. "I'm not afraid of death and it's not afraid of me either! Maybe I'll finally do the world some good by being gone and taking this…this _thing _inside of me with me! KILL ME, Voldemort, Delamort – KILL ME right now, Chanel!" _

_"__That would make five dead Delacours in one house, then."_

_"__Wh-what…?" Fleur asked, breathless. Chanel was still looking extremely passive to the point of disconcerting Fleur to a great degree._

_"__I'm dead. I've been dead since my birthday two years ago. Delamort turned Bellatrix and Lucius into Inferi that night in the Atrium. Bellatrix fled as soon as she could and Lucius is in Azkaban. She found me two years ago and dragged me into the Department of Mysteries and shoved me in the veil long enough to turn me into an Inferi. She's in there, waiting for me to act on Voldemort's command so that I can command…uhm…well…"_

_"…__b-but… But… No…no that's…that's impossible…! You can't be…but… You're dead? Dead? He… Or did I—"_

_"__Voldemort was telling her to do it. Not you. I could hear _his_ voice in the air, feel it inside of me… So, you see, being dead doesn't exactly solve all of your problems… In fact, it just creates more, seeing as how not just anyone could figure out how to kill me once and for all if I asked them to."_

_"…__why… Why you…? Why an Inferi… Why this…? Why…?"_

_"__Why am I dead? Because…it makes things easier for Voldemort… Having billions of followers whom not just anyone could figure out how to get rid of is…convenient. I'm essentially immortal you know, but I'm not always aware of _what I am…_only here am I like that. But I think I've figured that little problem out. You're getting better with it, but I've no clue how to get rid of it, or him, right this second since I'm not too keen on the idea of putting you away again. I know there's a way, but that's to be put on hold for the moment. Voldemort has some plan and we're expected to play our parts for Hermione."_

_"__What plan…? Hermione?"_

_"__If I tell you, you're going to want to go along with it, you know that right…?"_

_"…__me, or Voldemort…?"_

_"__You."_

_"__And just what makes you so sure I'd go along with something _Voldemort _wants me to do, even if it is for Her…"_

_"__I think you just answered your own question...maybe. But it's okay to be confused. Don't beat yourself up about it…"_

___If Hermione actually berated her in person for being so confused, and yelled at the top of her lungs for her weakness, all Fleur could only bow her head and be submissive and obedient because she actually had zero self-esteem when it came to Hermione's authority over her. But what happened to anarchy? Anarchy wasn't possible in love…_

___But wasn't resisting Voldemort more important than doing something for Hermione? Was it? Was there even any need for consideration, for comparison, for contemplation? Wasn't it an insult to even wonder about such an atrocious act? Surely Hermione was above Voldemort, even above herself. Fleur wondered whether all that she'd worked for was even worth it – she was still subject to Hermione. Sweet, adorable, innocent Hermione who had been tainted only by loving her so much. _

___Fleur wanted to forget and ignore the resentment that Hermione was in love with a being such as her, but the nagging feeling wouldn't go away. She wanted to forget who she was – a victim to victimisation – and drown herself in…something. She resumed her helpless act of burying her face in her cousin's neck and breathing deeply, feeling the stings of tears against her eyes and throat and stomach and soul. She wanted a way to forget her problems, and from experience, she knew that the best way was to be with Hermione. Just like the magic in her home, Hermione always made her aware of what it was like to feel, to be someone, and to have a purpose in life. And yet it was so addicting; addicting to the point of illness and ailment, constantly in need of Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…_

___Hermione made her forget who she was and immersed her in a world that never was – a world where all was right. A world where Hermione was law and she was her protector, always there to please and be pleased in return. If that could continue for as long as possible, it might have also been possible for Fleur to forget her problems that she was too weak to figure out how to get rid of permanently. Her musings of revenge during her sealing came to the surface in such a tantalisingly pleasurable way that made her smile wickedly, making her completely suppress the notion that she shouldn't have been smiling or concocting or scheming or wanting the infinite. _

___Was it worth it? To play her _part _for Lord Voldemort, the one who _killed _her cousin, for Hermione? What part? What grand scheme? That seemed so wrong…_  
_But Hermione was _right. _Hermione was _right _with her…_

_"__Fleur, just promise me something."_

_"__What…?"_

_"__If you love her and respect her as much as you say you do, then do _not _breach her trust by not telling her about this plan first. I've been trying to think of a way to get around it, but it's inevitable. I know I don't sound worried or whatever, but seriously…? I've lost all hope for everything today; everything but you, Fleur. Hell, I was even being nonchalant about telling you that I'm dead… But I don't want you to worry about that. I don't know who I am either, but we're family and I owe you my support. Maybe you can get revenge after all."_

_"__I understand…and I thank you. I just…don't think we've really had a chance to actually appreciate being family... What with this whole…identity crisis, or whatever you want to call it. I've given up hope, too… So just what is this plan, exactly…?"_

_"__Promise me first. Swear it on her trust for you, even."_

_"…__all right. I promise."_  


* * *

___Friday, September 13th, 2002; Delacour residence, Paris, Diagon Alley._

___It was the fourth anniversary of their friendship that night. That night when Hermione finally learnt just how strong Fleur was, how guarded she was, and how many vulnerabilities she was hiding inside of a bloody garden glove._

___For weeks, Fleur seemed to have been stuck in a void of contemplation. Contemplation to the point of isolation, even from Hermione. Nearly two weeks had passed since they moved, and more than anything, Hermione already seemed to associate their home with waiting. Waiting. Such an adequate word for them as a couple, as people who were together, as two who had gone through hell and back together, though separated. Constantly waiting for the other, all the while feeling completely undeserved…_

___And this time, because of how close they were and yet so far away, Hermione felt quite powerless. Years she spent of longing and pining and wanting; adding the particle of selfishness to that wanting changed it to waiting – the selfish __I. _The eye that could not see Fleur as well as she thought she could, and still could not. Fleur seemed so estranged; every room in the home seemed to still be filled with waiting. Their home was furnished just as Fleur's childhood home was, according to the woman herself, and Hermione was grateful for the familiarity and comfort it provided her. But there seemed to be almost _too much _familiarity, painting different pictures in every room of their home.

___Fleur sitting in the study, pouring over books. Fleur sitting in the dining room after dinner, thinking. Fleur taking hours in the loo, sitting in the bath, thinking, even with Hermione watching her. Thinking, reading and sulking ever so slightly – these were things that Fleur did, constantly, on an every day basis, and she didn't even stop while she ate. _

___Hermione understood her behaviour for the most part – surely she was still feeling bent out of shape over the whole sealing process and its repercussions, and even from visiting her old home some weeks ago. Or at least that was what her cousin said, but Hermione trusted the woman's judgement one hundred percent._

___Hermione had wondered for several days whether or not to remind Fleur that she lived with someone else. Surely she didn't mind the multitude of books, but not when the study room was overflowing with books that had been read and read again in their entireties by obsessed, studious blue eyes. Hermione chanced at least looking at the books for the first couple of days. She found it endearing that there were a multitude of poems and plays and novels about love, and encyclopaedias and such on art history. The books on Veela and thralls were understandable, but she didn't quite understand what the deal was with the books about time._

___Of course she tried __talking _to Fleur for those same initial days, but that didn't seem to work most of the time. Hermione understood, from an outsider's perspective, just how engrossed she herself she could become in a book to the point of being oblivious to the outside world. An image of Fleur walking about the aisle in between one of the bookcases, an open book in hand, and stopping to look up to the ceiling with a dejected but still somehow determined face would forever be in her mind. Knowing Fleur, she was most likely looking past the ceiling, up into the heavens. Whenever she noticed Hermione, she would point to the heavens and nod to her before returning to her reading.

___And so Hermione began reading right along with Fleur after a few days of not getting anywhere with her. They began sitting in the study on the same large chair together, holding each other, and reading the same book together. Books on time, on love, on art history, on philosophy, on anything; absolutely anything to keep them together and from going outside into the world that apparently hated them. Their friends seemed to have given up on getting Fleur to emerge from her studies, and Hermione only went out with them on occasion to keep their complaints to a minimum; Draco seemed to be the only one who didn't complain at all. They would discuss what they read and make philosophical judgements on the matters; this was the only thing that kept Hermione stable and away from her wonderings about why Fleur was isolating herself from the world; from her._

___In sharing such a pastime with Fleur, she truly began to familiarise herself once more with the woman that she fell in love with – strong, assured, and extraordinarily intelligent. It was highly reminiscent of studying with her at Hogwarts, and the nostalgia was sated wonderfully with their shared activities. Hermione was nearly startled with the nagging notion of whether or not Fleur was simply hiding behind her intelligence to shield other matters. Doubting Fleur was catastrophic, but not heeding to premonitions was also just as apocalyptic, as she learnt so many years ago._

___"__Simply fascinating," Fleur commented as she and Hermione were reading a text on philosophy just hours ago, _Concluding Unscientific Postscript, _"Kierkegaard makes a good point about this here." Fleur pointed to the line and Hermione read it over with knitted brows, nodding in agreement._

___"'__The notion of the truth as identity of thought and being is a chimera of abstraction'… That _is _fascinating, bearing in mind how he considers the subject as an existing individual whose existing is a process of becoming. We're constantly thinking, and so we're constantly in the process of becoming."_

___"__So that means that we can't deny the _correspondence_ between truth and being."_

___"__That's right… You're very right – I think they do communicate. And a bit later, here, he says that we're 'subjectively in the truth'. Whatever we believe is true, subjectively, is always true to us. And perhaps anyone who would deny that, from a psychological perspective, would be denying who we are and our memories. I suppose that's why someone would get so offended from another person telling them that they're wrong."_

___"__Mmm…that reminds me of what he asserts in _Fear and Trembling… _Remember? Grasping the relation of the infinite and self is an act of faith. Essentially, in virtue of absurdity, we can have both the infinite and the self in perspective and be a knight of faith. Freedom is being a 'self' as one wills to be… 'Duty is the expression of God's will'…but can't… Can't God be, subjectively, something or someone else? Acting for them, in duty to them, could still let us have faith. Being a knight of faith for them would mean…"_

___"…__it would mean determining your relation to the universal to your relation to the absolute. Your absolute would be what, exactly…?"_

___"__My God…"_

___"__You said you're not religious, right?"_

___"__I consider myself agnostic… But in my own made-up world, my God would be…y—"_

___"__Me…?"_

_____Fleur said nothing. She continued to regard Hermione with a rather innocent expression, undoubtedly noting how red Hermione's face was. Fleur was clearly lost in some sentimental thought, and the effervescence of her passionate musings was glowing in her eyes, making them flicker with Light, with compassion, with understanding. Hermione was feeling wholly too flattered to even think of anything to say before Fleur was soon flicking through another existential text in dire search of something else._

_____Never before had Hermione seen Fleur so passionate about something, even when reading. It wasn't until that moment, holding Fleur as the woman was pouring over a book in desperate search of something on a page, did Hermione really feel the passion resonate from her warm body. Her very curves screamed with the flow of knowledge that she craved, her hair was shimmering with a want for more knowledge, more truth, more _existing, _and her eyes were bright with…love. Love for reading, love for reading with her and love for…well…_her. _Even her voice was ebbing with an almost foreign fervour that Hermione loved nonetheless._

___"__Fichte says that to be frozen in time is to be both having thought of something and reflecting upon itself, having thought of that at that very moment. Can't the thought be our own? Our own, Hermione, _our own!_ Can't we be the ones frozen in time, having thoughts, becoming beings together, and becoming the absolute by defying physics, defying the world, defying time for love? Thoughts that aren't reflecting the truth of constantly being thought of at this moment, but those that transcend the frozen and continue in our own time could belong to us._

___"__Conscience is guided by the infinite, but Fichte thinks that there is no guarantee that the infinite is the realm of good and true. But he also says that no one willingly and knowingly does wrong. So how can we act for the infinite if we're convinced that it is true, where there's no guarantee of it being good and true? I think it is. Subjectively. And you would be my Goddess there, in that infinitely frozen time. We could be selves, be together, and be thoroughly our own creations without anyone else._

___"__The greatest despair is knowing that one cannot transcend one self, and must settle for who they are and _not who they can become. _I think…I think I have that despair, Hermione. And here – Kierkegaard says, 'When one man investigates objectively the problem of immortality, and another embraces an uncertainty with the passion of the infinite: where is there most truth, and who has the greater certainty?' _

___"__We could be immortal and ignore someone else, _everyone else,_ struggling with the uncertainty! Don't question it… Forget Socratic ignorance… 'A young girl may enjoy all the sweetness of love on the basis of what is merely a weak hope that she is beloved, because she rests everything on this weak hope; but many a wedded matron more than once subjected to the strongest expressions of love, has in so far indeed had proofs, but strangely not enjoyed _quod erat demonstrandum.' _… 'But the passion of the infinite is precisely subjectivity, and this subjectivity becomes the truth.'…"_

___"__Fleur… What…what is it that you're trying…to tell me…?"_

___"…__Hermione, I… I believe in _you. _My Goddess…my everything…and I am your Knight. _I believe in you_. I know it seems outlandish, but…well…maybe this philosophy words my wants better than I ever could…or at least for the moment… I'm working on that… And… Well… I love you..."_

_____Hermione could only stare in a silent awe as Fleur carefully stood up and began closing the multitude of books on the desk and organising them appropriately. There were fireworks and combustions and infinitely many explosions subtly going off within, telling her, reminding her, painting out for her just how much she loved Fleur as well. But she couldn't say anything. Her insides seemed to be the universe – the explosions were going off, but she couldn't give sound to them. They were voiceless and soundless and yet still so powerful to the point of constricting her and making her throat bleed because she couldn't tell Fleur just what she made her feel._

_____Telling her… Telling her wouldn't couldn't shouldn't needn't ever be enough – more needed to be done. More, more, more; more show, more display, more meaning more emotion more gratitude. For the first time in years, even after pining over the woman for so long, that was the first time that she'd actually been reminded, physically and emotionally, just how much she loved Fleur. The intensity had finally struck the final blow, and she was finally, finally, _finally _slapped senseless, being reminded of exactly what she'd really been longing for for so long…_

_____And when Fleur finished her tasks and bent down, she was reminded again. Looking directly into her eyes for a split second was such harmony; a split second before her face was warmed and almost burnt so nicely with the feel of Fleur's palms upon her face, perfumed with the crisp smell of books. The almost lilting taste of Fleur's thrall through her supple lips flowed through her own lips as Fleur breached the distance between them ever so gently. _

_____It seemed to last forever, but the moments kept continuing and leaving, slipping from her mouth and throat in such a metaphorically sloppy matter in comparison to Fleur and her efforts. Hermione let out a small sigh; the explosions had multiplied tenfold, despite how equally gentle they all were, and left her searching for a sedate in the form of Fleur's full lips and warm, soft tongue and equally warm and soft hands still cupping her face. _

_____The rip happened too soon, but Hermione knew that everything she wanted couldn't last forever. The way Fleur stood and turned around to walk to the door reminded her of this. But she was also reminded of all that Fleur had said. There was one last thing that Fleur said that night as she stood in the doorway, leaning on it ever so slightly, and looking at Hermione with a soft, but still overpowering intensity that left her whining and moaning on the inside, searching and searching with her sounds for a way to repay her._

_____Her words, the thought behind the romance, and every little thing Fleur did and was doing and could forever do to her, for her, with her was absolutely…indescribable._

___"__To live and die for a belief, to stake everything one has and is in the belief in someone who has a higher meaning than anything in the world, in the _universe, _Hermione — this is belief…and passion…_for you_…at their highest."_  


* * *

___It was still the same night, in the same place, in the same bed that Fleur lay with her eyes closed but a very alert mind. Flashes of lightning from outside slashed at her eyelids on occasion, and the rain spattering against the window made her wonder exactly why she wasn't holding Hermione. Fear? Indecision? Uncertainty? Resentment?_

___Reading could only do so much for her; it was as if the information she absorbed only further added to her lament. Days and nights seemed to pass with Fleur seemingly lying in the same spot, thinking. Sunsets and epiphanies came to her during Hermione's equal state of deliberation, covering her in a blanket of contemplation and painting her body vermillion with millions upon millions of questions. Moonrises glossed over her body while she listened to Hermione pant ever so slightly, trapped in the void of her nightmares, Fleur herself feeling so…powerless._

___Fleur refused to leave the house under absolutely any circumstances. She'd cast the very same Enchantments on their home as the ones from her childhood home. Though Hermione couldn't feel the effects because she did not possess any Veela blood, Fleur constantly felt sated and safe, even more so than before when she only had Hermione's presence as protection. But her presence, most especially now that they were both in bed together, seemed more detrimental than anything. There was no point in berating herself for the thought; she merely turned on her side to stare out the large window some yards away that gave a view of the edge of the cliff that their home resided upon.  
Watching the moon glow on the window, seeing it shine, observing every speck of rainfall, noting the rivulets bouncing up from the windowsill, hearing the thunder and lightning – it all reminded her of what she'd contemplated just days ago._

___Fleur could not blame her cousin for telling her. The woman had apparently been plagued by constant reminders of the plot for years, keeping her from sleep, from realising exactly what was going on with her, and from nearly everything else except for Fleur, Hermione, and the elusive plan. The plan to help Fleur realise her romantic dream of revenge and placing Hermione right at the top of the world, as Queen; ruler of the dead, overseer of the planet, and the majesty of Fleur's existence. Freeze time with the permeation of her thrall, making it so that only those inside their home, the dead, or those who build up a resistance to the cold from the Enchantments, could survive. But their home would undergo an extreme change, just as Fleur and Hermione themselves would…_

___This could only happen with the one and only thing Fleur had been craving, albeit trying desperately to suppress her desires for – sex. Because __everything _had to revolve around sex – the one thing that Fleur had the most trouble resisting, if not more than Hermione herself. Only Voldemort could concoct such a scheme that exploited Fleur in every way possible, making his victory only seem an inevitable act away.

___That was the very reason why Fleur was at present not holding Hermione, even though she wanted to. She knew it was foolish to go their entire lives without sex just to avoid Voldemort's plan, and it wasn't as if they could block __something _from happening with penetration – the strap-on that was still hidden in one of Fleur's purses was the icing on absolutely everything. It was magical, and could thus perform functions that would have been otherwise impossible. Ejaculation –

_____Seeds. _

___"…'__seeds', my Lord?" Bellatrix asked, confused. Fleur chuckled and nodded, casting her eyes to the high, dark ceiling as she did._

___"__Yes.. yes, oh yes… I will keep that part secret. A surprise, if you will, when it works. Hermione will be an excellent back-up for us once this happens. But, again, neither of us will be without our weaknesses… Unfortunately. And yet Fleur's thrall.. it has the power to seduce, to control, to ensnare the senses, the mind, the will… To possibly even freeze time, just as it preserves her beauty…"_

___"__How poetic," chuckled Lucius. Fleur gave a short, throaty laugh and glossed her eyes back down to her remaining followers._

___"__It is again something I picked up from our dear Delacour," said Fleur with another toothy smirk. "She is very willing to essentially be Hermione's pawn. It's all so terribly romantic."_

___Fleur scowled and shut her eyes; again, Voldemort and his concoctions… Planting seeds inside of Hermione, while they would not get her pregnant, they would initiate the __change. _The change to someone, or something, unknown. A different Hermione, in retrospect, but the same woman as far as general appearances went. Her wardrobe would of course change to fit her part, as would Fleur's if Hermione also took her turn.

___"__She's going to _want it _after the first time, on the same night… The agent's already been spread quite a bit. Her masturbation… Fleur, you made a promise and you'd better keep it. If she's not aware then she'll have next to no chance of keeping at least a drop of control over her true self. Yes, there's a chance that eventually she'll at least partially snap out of it, but still, that's going to complicate things immensely. If you let that happen, and I find out…"_

___Fleur bit her lip and ignored the annoying stings in her eyes and throat. All of that ranting and raving she'd done, wishing and begging and praying for a way to exact revenge on the world…she didn't mean it. Not at all… It was just some nice dream; it was outlandish and crazy and romanticised. Hermione would never go along with it, even if it meant sacrificing sex. Hermione was so righteous that she would __never _agree to anything like that, even if it meant the chance at freezing time so that they could be together forever. Freezing off the rest of the world and only having the dead for company seemed absurd, but not in the face of love and Hermione…

___But Fleur made a promise to her cousin. A promise was a promise, and she knew Chanel had lost all hope in everyone except for her. Breaching that trust would be the end of all hope her cousin had in the world, and Fleur couldn't do that to her. She was dead, she had been partially controlled by her younger cousin, and it had taken her years to finally seize control over herself. Fleur admired her cousin's resolve; Chanel seemed to be all right with the plan, probably because she had no authority to tell Fleur to not have sex with the one she loved, and she had a plan of her own. There was nothing else they could do. Nothing; absolutely nothing, but Fleur was still inadvertently turning to abstinence anyway in the myriad of her contemplation._

___"__The second Voldemort tells me you've climaxed, I'm going back to the veil. I'm bringing everyone out… I will have the most command over the Inferi that I bring out with me, and I'm sure Hermione will let me keep command over them. I have a plan. Have faith in me, alright?"_

___Loving Hermione for an eternity…that seemed so magnanimous now. They wouldn't even really be themselves… Putting up with each other for so long, dealing with each other… But they would never age, never change, never die. Having power over the world, as revenge for putting them through such trials and hardships and everything else…_

___But the world wasn't the culprit – it was Voldemort. And yet the only way to get revenge was to submit to his plans…? But the way Chanel gave warnings was obviously telling her that she had plans of her own. It would only be temporary…but that was placing too large a burden on her cousin's shoulders. She couldn't do that to her…_

_____Don't get any big ideas about defying him, or her – they're not…going to happen…_

_____Now that you've found it, it's gone; now that you feel it, you don't._

___"__But what does this have to do with…this? This, here, now, _us?_What does the world have to do with us? I've been holding on for _this moment_; __I'm here, _you're here_and we still love each other– that's all I've wanted all this time… I'm satisfied now."_

___Fleur let out a feeble whine and lay upon her back once more. She was thinking herself mad, to the brink of suicide, all because she knew she wanted her romantic dream to come true but she didn't want Hermione to lose control over herself. It wouldn't be the same at all! And yet she wouldn't know, because she too would change… Telling Hermione was impossible, though. Fleur couldn't bring herself to do it. She was too weak, too indecisive – she wanted the plan to go through but she __knew _Hermione wouldn't have it, even if it meant sacrificing sex. And yet Fleur wanted the sex and the romantic dream and the eternal chance to be with Hermione…

___But it was wrong… It was right… Wrong… Right… Wrong… It was all right, all wrong…_

___Wrong because she wanted it; right because she knew she __really _didn't give a damn about the world and because Hermione was clearly clairvoyant to her carnal desires – Fleur _felt _her there. On top of her. The duvet was over _her _backside now. Fleur was starting to wonder whether or not anyone _really _willingly did wrong, especially now that she was looking up at Hermione. Hermione who was regarding her so lasciviously that Fleur was powerless to ignore her. She could ignore the bane of her meaningless existence if she let Hermione have her way with her tonight, and every single night after that as many times and as many ways as she pleased…

___A flash of lightning helped to light the finer intricacies of the dark haze in Hermione's eyes – the want was obviously there. Why or how it had to emerge on this night, during this bout of contemplation, during __this _moment of weakness was beyond her. Hermione was regarding her softly now, a bit of question in her eyes, most likely because she could see the fear and doubt and indecision swirling within Fleur's.

___"What's wrong…?"_

___"N-nothing…you just…surprised me. I… Well…"_

___"Did I wake you…?"_

___"No…no, I…" Fleur inhaled a deep, shallow breath when Hermione moved to breathe in her ear, her breaths equally shallow and wanton and wanting. The fears and doubts consumed her once more, coupled with the pressure of Hermione's breasts pressing so wonderfully against hers, was complete, __excruciating _torture… "_Hermione…_"

___"It's all right…"_

___Butterfly kisses fluttered along Fleur's ear, her jaw, her face, leading up to the azures that were wide shut in a hapless bout of sudden submission. There seemed to be an unusual amount of arousal seeping in the room, through the invisible cracks in the walls, sending more fervent chills down Fleur's spine than what should have constituted as normal. But how would she know what was __normal? _They'd never done anything like this before, and thisstage was long overdue. _Too_ long.

___The pressure of that body pressing down on hers was entirely too delicious and agonising– that body that could wield her very being better and more artfully than she herself ever could. The body of a woman who often mumbled in her sleep about Fleur, about the time spent apart. The woman who made a silent prayer whenever Fleur smiled, who memorised her face, who knew her touch by heart, who wanted to long and look at her until she was blind, who wanted to stop the world just to be able to hold her and become lost in her embrace to make up for all of those four years and then some._

___Hermione told her all of this – it was all proof enough that she would want it all. When Hermione spoke, it wasn't just rhetorical or hypothetical or overly romanticised or exaggerated – she meant it all. She meant the meaning underneath her hands glossing up a thigh underneath her own while her other hand stayed upon a trembling jaw. Fleur saw a glimpse of an explosion go off behind closed eyes, still managing to feel beyond aroused from Hermione's gentleness despite her own anxieties; her lips were just as affectionate as her hands and she willed herself to reciprocate appropriately._

___Willing and actually doing were two completely separate entities, just as Fleur herself felt that she was – two paths, two decisions, two rights and two wrongs were before her. The two kept multiplying in ways that Fleur was powerless to control, and she couldn't fight them from permeating the sanctity that was Hermione's lips and tongue and mouth. The indecision was even getting in the way of expressing her passions, and it was frustrating and bothersome though she knew she needed to say something, but her body said all that she needed for her. Just as she felt Hermione's hand creep further up her nightshirt, she jumped out of her skin ever so slightly and gave a sharp inhale from the surprise and the inevitable demise of them both if she let anything continue any further._

___"Fleur…" Hermione breathed. Fleur opened her eyes and regarded Hermione with a wince, despite the warm patience looking back down at her. "You've been acting strangely ever since you came back from France… I understand if you're traumatised over it, but…I don't know. I get the feeling, especially now, that there's something else. Unless I'm…moving too fast…?"_

___Fleur couldn't say anything at all in response. Hermione wasn't moving too fast – if anything, it was her that was moving too slow, if at all. The unbearable weight on her shoulders from the wait to go down the path of eternity was too much, and she was doing Hermione a terrible injustice by lying to her without saying a word. Laying underneath her and staying silent while their bodies could speak for themselves couldn't compare to the reason why she was being silent. Selfishness or selflessness? Wanting to keep Hermione oblivious or wanting power over her? There was no explanation for her behaviour except that she was lying, and she needed to stop._

___"I know we haven't exactly…talked about it," Hermione continued when Fleur evened her expression, "not since we were in school, anyway. But is there really any need to…?"  
Fleur shook her head and looked off to the side; looking Hermione directly in the eye seemed too much all of a sudden. Perhaps she was imagining things, but Fleur could have sworn she felt Hermione's heart drop; their chests were pressed against each other, and she was much more aware of how red her face was from the sudden plummet._

___ Hermione's hand still hadn't moved from her thigh, but the want was flowing from her palms and fingertips. Her dark tresses were brushing ever so slightly against her neck, almost tickling her with derision. Derision of her indecision – the decision to end all decisions._

___"It's been __years," _Hermione whispered vehemently, "_years, _Fleur… I've been dreaming of this night… I've dreamt of taking you and giving myself to you; of basking in an ocean of passions with you. I'm not saying I don't understand if you're not quite ready…but the reasons why you're not ready are unclear to me. What do I need to say to get you out of this? You've always had a hard time expressing yourself to me because you're afraid I'll disagree with you or get angry or…or just whatever else. What do I need to say…?"

___Hermione's tone gradually changed to one of begging and pleading. Fleur could feel both of their hearts palpitating at an absurd speed. Her temperature kept increasing jaggedly, always steadily shooting up more than decreasing, just like her determination. The lips she felt prodding at her neck, gently, but pleadingly, made her bring her shaking hands up to Hermione's head and hold her to keep her hands steady, to keep them both steady. Fleur let out a soft, high-pitched whine when Hermione began suckling on a particularly sensitive spot. Her words kept doing the same to a spot within her; a spot that Hermione had never before been able to access and take advantage of with words and actions of this nature. She'd become far more passionate over the years, and with a silent barrier such as this, Hermione knew exactly how to break it down._

___"I would always imagine the sounds of your voice…. The sounds you'd make…" Hermione somehow kept speaking in a sultry enough tone while still kissing up and down Fleur's neck and shoulders and face. "Your moans…your giggles whenever I'd tickle you…your sighs your breaths and the feel of your breasts in my mouth…"_

___Fleur's breaths kept increasing in volume against Hermione's lips; the seduction was working, just like a pair of hands underneath an arched body working down a line of buttons. Fleur's body arched up just enough to keep a perfect arc in between them, and she couldn't ignore the perfectly, equally seductive order from Hermione to remove her nightgown. Neither were wearing a thing underneath, and Fleur could only remember one time that they had gone this far. The feel of skin, glowing, radiant; skin burning with want was on her own, driving her mad. Her body kept betraying her, letting out the soft moans and sighs and shallow breaths from the surprise that Hermione was so wanton in a way that kept turning her on and up and over and beyond anything. All Fleur could do was massage the scalp underneath her inch-long fingernails while her body kept arching up and down, her own head kept moving from side to side, and Hermione's power kept her from squirming._

___The kisses that kept getting horrendously closer and closer to her chest, and further down, made her breaths quicken and quicken just as Hermione's did. Glossing kisses across her skin, taking quick, loud breaths, smoothing the warmth of her breaths that were as moist as they were; the actions kept cutting Fleur off from her fears and thoughts and she had no authority to stop anything Hermione was doing. Her knees were bent and her insides were equally bent and bombastic and bouncing with fervour and an intricate, incredibly sultry ardour that kept increasing and increasing the more Hermione kept speaking to her in a breathy, husky tone in between kisses and sharp breaths._

___"God Fleur… I love…your sounds… I surrender to your sounds… Marvel your moans… I hope to win your whines and whimpers tonight, as you've already done mine…" Fleur let out a throaty moan in surprise – Hermione's tongue found a mound to explore and adore and lapped her lips and tongue about the areole, somehow managing to talk over Fleur's increasing squirms and sounds. "Do you know how many times I've fantasised about this…very…moment… About the exact…same…thing…you're doing right now…?"_

___The jolts were so foreign to Fleur – she never knew it possible to feel the way she did on the places she did. The sounds out of her own throat were equally foreign – she could hardly remember ever making them before. Feeling Hermione knead the curves of her waist helped to relax her with one hand and another on her free breast was tantalising; feeling her breaths around the moist flesh that had captured her attentions were driving her higher than she'd ever let herself go before. The massage she felt from a thigh in between her thighs, rocking up and down in between moisture, making Hermione gyrate, making her moan ever so slightly while she switched her attentions back and forth on the same plane._

___Fleur was completely and utterly impressed and above all completely caught off guard by Hermione's ambitions and total lack of inhibitions. Speaking was impossible, telling Hermione to stop was forbidden, and explaining anything was apocalyptic – all she could do was shut up and moan. It was all she wanted to do. Fleur completely forgot about anything and everything that wasn't Hermione moving her lips down her stomach, ever so slowly, while she kissed every inch of her skin. Hermione's thigh was no longer working so much, and she instead spread Fleur's legs and let her breasts continue where she left off while she continued to speak, making Fleur writhe and squirm and whine and whimper more than ever._

___"I can already smell…you… I almost feel dizzy from…how wonderful…I feel right now… Don't stop writhing; don't stop making those sounds…"_

___Further down to the navel Hermione went but she still wanted to savour the moment. Fleur had expelled any and all modes of rationalisation – feeling was her only mode, and keeping her nails interwoven in Hermione's tresses was all she could do to remind herself that she still had agency over herself, however little it was. Her words were arousing her mouth was arousing her tongue was arousing her further and further just as it kept doing further and further down, down, down; tantalisingly slowly down it went, making a path, making a mark, making a memory, marking a moment, making Fleur moan without meaning to as soon as her tongue jumped from there to her inner thigh._

___Fleur let out a pant of impatience but the impatience was expelled the second Hermione let out a deep chuckle and continued on with her teasing. She wanted it. She wanted Hermione to give it to her, to release her of her yearning, to stop the madness that was seeping out of her and to make it all come out full force to end the agony. She heard Hermione murmur to her, telling her to fantasise about something. Anything. From the way her finger moved up her thigh and straight through her, thrusting in and out, and her words that were further driving her mad to the point of panting and moaning louder than she even knew she could, she knew something…_

___"Thrust…and thrust…and thrust… I saw it…shrunken…in your purse… I want it, Fleur. I. Want. It. __Tonight. _And I know you want it too…"

___That twang to Hermione's voice made Fleur shudder and spasm just like her vocalisations; that same twang found its way right above her finger that was still thrusting and thrusting. The second her tongue started moving, Fleur shot off and started wondering, imagining; fantasising about what Hermione __wanted _so badly. But there were issues that were clouding the wondering; Fleur was quite unskilled in the art of fantasising, and her fears finally decided to resurface despite the euphoria in between her legs. Her fears of not _telling _Hermione were there, but she also began to see and hear something else. A memory that did not belong to her; a memory that shut her up and expunged her fears; made her leak them out just as she was in Hermione's mouth.  


_And here I am, alone in my bedroom.  
I have myself, my hand, my fantasies.  
But I don't have you, and yet I will – soon.  
My mind makes me make mirages; mallacies.  
I hear your moans, enticing me further.  
Dry to wet; wet to soaked – I hear your tongue  
lapping, lips snapping; innocence murdered.  
String me, strum me; my climax is sung.  
I taste my sweat; I taste my moans for you.  
You drink my liquid heat, I hear my spill  
release – your lips to me are such as glue.  
Burnt by the night air – your here is not real.  
Alone, I am, but I still hear echoes.  
I came but I won't go; won't let you go._

___Somehow, from the resentment Fleur felt from her own absence, she felt no need to speak of anything. Hermione already __knew. _She _knew. _She was smart enough to figure it out. It was absurd, but Fleur just…_felt _it.

___Or perhaps the knowledge was seeping through to her, somehow. Through her mouth…? It was becoming oddly cold in the room all of a sudden, but Fleur's body heat continued to grow exponentially to combat it. Mirages of purple floated through her fantasies, through Hermione's wants that she could feel in her very senses, through the room, through the house, through everything; absolutely everything. The despair was being released, her indecision was now fleeting, and the arousal and validation that Hermione was here, __now, _and always would be finally came in to stay.

___Years of emotional blocks were finally smashed completely. Years of feeling so stoic, so stagnant; they turned to scintillating brilliance – an unknown form of effervescence in the shade of dazzling amethyst. Love, passion, pleasure, bliss, satisfaction, zeal, ardour…all of it began moulding and intertwining into a feeling that she could only wonder about for so long. The breaths and lapping and occasional soft grind of teeth on such a sensitive spot kept driving her further and further up away from the world and everything in it.  
The built up anger converted to passion, to combustions, to explosions – her mind was going off, a freezing haze was beginning to build and float throughout her, and Hermione being the centre of it all made it all come so easily, so freely. Frozen heat, guttural sounds, and the purple of Fleur's thrall overtook them both. Fleur did take her turn with Hermione, and the anger and loathing of the world came out in full force from her as well – she __knew._

___Meanwhile, an insomniac rose from her sleepless sleep and immediately Apparated to the destination she was powerless to fight. Voices in her head, cackling, hissing; information of what to do plagued her while she stared at the veil before her. The darkness surrounding it was just as hollow as she was, filled only with the eternal recurrences of __his _voice, telling her that he'd lost control over the two long ago. He was equally weak to control her, but she went along with it because she wanted the voices to stop. She wanted Voldemort to stop talking to her; she had her own plans for things. Fleur and Hermione could have their fun for a while, and she wanted them to – she, too, hated the world and those in it except for a small number of beings.

___And so she continued on and jumped inside the veil, fully knowing that she might as well use her immortality for something. Being Voldemort's pawn was not part of her plans, nor was being a pawn for anyone else. Letting her cousin have her romantic dream before saving her was all she cared about, even if it meant going along with what Voldemort wanted for the time being. Besides, it was inevitable…  
She could hear him telling her that Hermione was begging and begging for more – it was only a matter of time. Time that would soon be completely disregarded; frozen, just as she had been._


	7. overture

_Love will rule me_

_and you shall rule me;_

_my body is your kingdom _

_and the immortal love I have_

_for you is your reign._

_**vii. **__overture_

Why am I always so angry? Angry, bitter, brooding, depressed, stressed, repressed of all that I care and don't care about? I don't care about the same things anymore, and what I do seem to care about makes me seem like this selfless genius.

Genius. Hell yeah I'm a genius. I'm standing on this platform waiting on this train like the genius I am.

I'm dead. I can't sleep like I used to. Eating is useless. I can't even enjoy this dreary scenery around me without feeling just as useless. This place looks exactly like Platform 9 ¾. Add on some fog around my ankles, dead landscape visible as the train tracks go out further, echoes of ululations in the dry winds, cobalt and cloudless skies and that's the platform I'm standing on. The train should be here soon, but I've lost track of how long it's been since I got here. There is no sense of time here; no way to measure patience, impatience, or whatever. No sense in being sore about something not coming when there's nothing to be mad at except yourself.

I gave up the Therapist look and scrapped the white lab coat and glasses. Psychology's not going to help much with this problem I have on my hands, but it does help to wear something different for a change. Black always works. These shorts are cool; they come to my knees in the front but the fabric goes to my trainers in the back like a cape. My top is just a vest with a zipper. It's strange, because I was just thinking of the colour while I jumped down here and now I'm wearing it. You have to be thinking of an abstraction while you come in here, otherwise the void'll take you. Thinking of material things and the previous life won't get you anywhere here except an eternal train ride. I'm hoping the people on this train are sick of riding and would rather help me. Or help me figure things out, more like it.

For some reason, I have a stinging, nagging feeling that Fleur didn't tell Hermione anything. Maybe it burns because she made a promise, and I believed her like the loyal cousin I am. She hesitated. She knows Hermione's righteous as hell. I was hoping Fleur _would _tell her, and Hermione'd say no, even if it meant abstinence. Selfish of me, but I seem to be the only one with the world in mind here. That and I'm not too keen on letting Voldemort win us over with this phantasmagoria shit he has for a plan. I'm mad because he even controlled _me _for two years, and now I have to sit and watch him be inside of them, if not necessarily controlling them, for an eternity.

Steam. Well, it's black, so it should be smoke but it doesn't smell like it. It's wet, but that's all I can feel. The train looks pretty raggedy, too. It's like someone painted it with blood and it's all cracked and dried now. At least it's here and I don't have to waste imaginary time waiting, I suppose.

I hopped on the train the second it stopped. Sort of. More like I hopped through the door that won't open. It materialised into something water-like and made ripples as I jumped through. Doors are unnecessary. The train doesn't stop for more than a few supposed moments, and then it's off again. It's weird how the interior of the train actually doesn't look too shabby. I've never been on the actual one, so I can't make any comparisons, but the Otherworld has its deceptions.

So let me just be honest with you – I really have no idea what the hell I'm doing. This isn't something I can sit down and figure out, no matter how many days I'm given. It's frustrating because I can't solve this how I'm used to solving things, and my cousin isn't an experiment. I don't even know who she is anymore, or _what _she'll be by the end of this –

"Hey!"

I stopped and turned towards the compartment where I heard a man calling out to me. He was sitting with a red-haired woman and another black-haired man, and they were playing a game of Exploding Snap. Full-grown adults playing a game like that? Honestly…? The woman looked annoyed at the man with glasses who called me, but I decided to go through the door and try and talk to them. The same man was ignoring the woman next to him and gestured for me to sit next to his friend while he spoke to me. I sat down and noticed something odd – the woman's eyes looked very familiar to me.

"Never seen you around here before. You just get in?"

"Not exactly…"

"Oh, sorry! The name's James Potter. This here's my wife, Lily, and that there's my best mate Sirius Black. Who might you be?"

"James…? Oh… I thought you looked familiar."

"Familiar?"

"I know your son."

"Harry? Well I'll be! Lily, Lily, did you hear her? She knows Harry! Sirius, mate!"

"Yes, James, I _heard _her…" James and Sirius were ogling me before, but now it was just ridiculous. My thrall's not supposed to work on them, but I guess it really isn't necessary. Another look from Lily and they stopped. "Sorry about these two… Anyway, who are you? We've never seen you before."

"Chanel Delacour."

"Delacour?" Sirius asked.

"Yes, Delacour."

"Fleur… I KNEW you looked familiar! _And _you know Harry! It's no wonder! But I thought she…"

"No, I'm her cousin. Lucius hid her identity with the Ministry, so I couldn't find her for the longest. A lot's happened since I have, though…"

"We know…" Lily said.

"You do?"

"We're granted a small bit of clairvoyance here. It's not much, but it'll do. We can't hear too much of what's going on in the outside world, but we've been able to see quite a bit."

"So what exactly do you know?"

"Well," Sirius said, "we know that Voldemort still won't give it a rest yet. We've been peeking in on Harry and the Order on occasion, me on Ron, Fleur and Hermione since I knew them. It's a shame what's happened, really."

"Have you told anyone?"

"Everyone in the Otherworld knows," Lily explained. "We've told some of the ones who never met Harry and the others and because they can't peek in on them, and the rest know by word of mouth. It's all we've been talking about for ages, and we wish we could do something."

"Well, that's why I'm here. I jumped in from the veil in the Department of Mysteries."

"The veil…?" James echoed. "Sirius, isn't that…the one you fell through…?"

"Yes…yes, it is," Sirius sighed. "But how'd you get through without getting thrown in here or your school's mode of transport? This place's endless – there's plenty of room for you."

"Have you ever thought of peeking in on Bellatrix?"

"Merlin,_ no_," James said disgustedly.

"Well, if you had, you'd have found out that she shoved me through the veil momentarily and turned me into an Inferi… So I can come and go just fine. I'm just really wondering if I should go back at all."

"What? Oh, so that's the information we've been missing! You! You're the one the kids've been with every now and then, yeah. Well…they're not kids anymore."

"Mmm, Sirius, did you hear me telling Fleur about what Voldemort has in mind?"

"Bits and pieces of it, yes… I've told most of the lot here and they've all been up in arms about it. Lily was right when she said we wish we could do something about it."

"I know we can. It's just that if I bring you out like Voldemort intends for me to do, Hermione's going to be suspicious if we don't do what she wants us to do."

"Bah!" James grunted and folded his arms. "Damn that Voldemort! Possessing every which way. Don't tell us he'll try and infect us if you find a way to take us out there!"

"Fleur's thrall will. A purple mist is starting to form outside. I'll be immune to it since I have my own thrall, but hers will get to you the most if Hermione's displeased. I can't have that, otherwise they'll try and control you."

"So you're saying the only way we can help is if we act like we're mindless?" Lily scoffed.

"Basically. I can't let them get suspicious of you. If we stay in here too long the world's going to start freezing over regardless."

"So they're consummating right now…" Sirius said.

"Uh huh…"

"Oh. W-well I haven't looked, so…"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you haven't… Anyway…if this all starts, people are going to get angry and start attacking them to make it stop. I don't know how long it'll take to spread, but I'm hoping people will get the hint to go underground."

"Oh right!" James said. "I remember they tried to hide from Sorcerers and Sorceresses years ago by hiding underground. The passages and whatnot are still there, eh? But what about the Muggles…?"

"I don't know… They'll probably just freak out and think it's another ice age epidemic. There's not much we can do about them. Even if they are frozen, the cold won't kill them."

"Do you have a plan for all of this?" Lily asked.

"No… No, I don't… I was hoping you all could help me, but I don't even know if it's worth it."

"What do you mean not worth it? We can't just let Voldemort win like this!"

"Lily, you have to understand something… I know I'm probably going to seem messed up for saying this, but I don't give a damn about the world. The people in it have less importance to me except for my cousin. But even then, I'm not sure. I have a feeling she didn't keep her promise, so my only hope of getting through to Hermione's gone to shits."

"But—"

"Let me finish, James! You three've been sitting here playing Exploding Snap for I don't know how many years; sitting and wishing and hoping you could do something! And what have you thought of in those endless years? Nothing, right? I've only had my own mind back for the past two weeks after two _years_, and despite how great everyone tells me I am, I haven't thought of anything either. I doubt I have any hope to think of anything. Is there any point…? Is there?"

"Hey… That's what Voldemort wants us to think," Sirius said. "There has to be a way, even if we haven't thought of one! Now you're Fleur's cousin, so I can only imagine how much you care about her, and Hermione."

"Yes, I do care about them a lot…more so than I do for myself. I want them to be happy, but I don't know exactly how much of their free wills will be gone. And the worst part is that it's happening right now, no matter how slow it all is, and I can't stop it."

"This isn't your burden alone," Lily said. "Might I ask how old you are, technically?"

"Thirty… I'll be thirty-one next month assuming there's still time in the world by then."

"And you haven't found anything to be hopeful for in all of your years? What about your own life?"

"I'm dead."

"It doesn't matter."

"…Voldemort's taken all of my hope. Voldemort has it. So why not get revenge on the world since it's the closest thing to attacking him directly? By the magnitudes, they're the same. By the targets, they're off by a long-shot. It's useless but what else can I do? But at the same time I feel so wrong because it's not right. Fleur will be happy though, so what do I care? But it's still not right, which is why I feel the need to sit down and think this out. And now I'm running in circles…"

"You know…" James began, "I'm not too keen on the idea of possibly losing it if we don't act accordingly in Hermione's eyes. Sirius's told us so much about her, so Lily and I can't help but care for the woman so much, and Fleur. Her thrall is pretty much like a leash, you said, _and _it's what's starting all of this mess, Voldemort included. But you'll have all the time you need to sort things out and figure out what it is you want."

"Are you saying it's up to her to decide the fate of the world?" Sirius asked tartly. "Mate, that's quite a load on the woman's shoulders. She'll have wrinkles in a few days even if there is no time if that's what you're saying."

"It's all right," I said with a sigh and wave of my hand, "this is my fault anyway. I saw on Fleur's chamber in the Sorceress Memorial that it had been tampered with, but I was afraid to fix it while she was in there. She might've died... She's my only family…you need to understand."

"We do," Lily said, "and you know her and Hermione better than any of us here do. Help us get out of here and we'll help you in any way we can. We want to help."

"She's right," James and Sirius said. Their smiles did help a bit, but I couldn't return them.

"Thanks… I'll try and watch your backs with Hermione and everything. I don't know how she'll be but I should be able to handle her."

"All right then," James said while the three of them stood up. "We'll spread the word around. It won't take long."

"Oh, Chanel," Sirius said. "Her parents and Gabrielle are on the carriage. You know, the Beauxbatons one. I hear time passes differently over in un-France. Just think of them in an abstraction and you'll get there instantly."

"Is it like Apparition?"

"Why yes. Otherworld Apparition. Clever, isn't it?"

"Yes…yes, it is. Thank you. Have everyone file out on the Platform and I'll break the seal for you all."

"Are you taking any of the Beauxbatons alums?"

"No…I don't think so. You all are more than enough."

"All right then! See you in a bit! And don't worry too much, will you?"

"I'll try."

The second I thought of Fleur's family in a haze of green light, I was taken to their room in the Beauxbatons carriage. It's still as ostentatious as ever, but I suppose it does look a little shabbier compared to the real one. I haven't been in this thing in years, and now I'm standing in a room with three people gaping at me. Time really did pass differently in here, because if I wasn't mistaken, Gabrielle looked to be a young adult, but her parents didn't look like they'd aged at all.

Her parents, might I add, who moved to hug me faster than I could realise. It was so strange… I hadn't seen them since I was seventeen. It made me think back to two weeks ago when I was holding Fleur while she was crying. It was surreal to see them again. I wondered what would happen if Fleur saw them again…but I wasn't sure whether it was all right to bring any of them out. They would be immune to Fleur's thrall, but the idea of bringing them out was still way too shaky to me.

Gabrielle recognised me, because she ushered me to sit with her on her bed the second her parents let me go. She looked so much like Fleur that it hurts to see her, but this was important. Apolline and Lionel sat in the chairs right across from us while Gabrielle kept clutching on to me, and from the scared looks on their faces I could tell that they already knew.

"_How are you all?"_

"_Terrible," _Apolline said. _"We've had nothing but misery in this carriage ever since we arrived. Fleur's going through a terrible time and we can't do anything. You're not faring much better…"_

"_Don't worry about me."_

"_It's rather hard to, you know," _Gabrielle said; her face was still buried in my neck. _"You're in danger! Everyone is… And Fleur…"_

"_I'm…trying to figure a way to get us out of danger, Gabby."_

"_I want to help! You can break the seal!"_

"_I'm not taking you out there! No… I don't know what Fleur would do to you if she saw you again."_

"_She would react, emotionally," _Lionel mumbled. _"Wouldn't that…wouldn't that stop all of this mess? We can't stand it any longer. None of us can…"_

"_I'm afraid she'd try and send you back. There are spells to make you dead to the outside world, you know. I'm pretty sure Voldemort, and just Fleur would know one."_

"_But isn't it worth a try? That reaction is what we need… It's been years, Chanel…you have to understand how much pain this has been causing us."_

"_It's not that easy. I'm not risking it."_

"_So stubborn," _Gabrielle muttered.

"_It's for your own good."_

"_So you'll risk the English and not us? What if Fleur finds out you're plotting against her?"_

"_I'm not! I… Gabby you make it sound so bad. I don't know what I'm doing, I'm confused, and you're putting too much pressure on me. Just stop, alright?"_

"_Not until you promise me you'll get Fleur out of this! I want her to be happy but not like…this."_

"_I want you to tell me something first."_

"_What is it?"_

"_Were you peeking in on Fleur before anything happened?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_Did she explain anything to Hermione?"_

"_We don't know…we stopped watching once they started kissing."_

So they didn't know either… It was possible that Fleur told her some time during the sex, but I still wasn't sure. I wasn't sure whether to be hopeful or listen to my instincts, but hope was my only weapon at this point.

"_Chanel. Promise me. Even if she didn't keep her promise, I need you to keep this one."_

"_Alright, alright. I promise, Gabby."_

"_Good! Will you be able to come and visit us still?"_

"_Yes. I'll stop by often. It's odd being the only one who can move freely through the veil, but I can only thank Voldemort for that… But for now, I have to go."_

"_What will you have the English do?" _Apolline asked.

"_To start with, I'm taking them to Fleur and Hermione's home in Paris in Diagon Alley. The Inferi will need a large enough place to stay out of Fleur's thrall for as long as possible, and Voldemort has plans for their home. He wants a castle…"_

"_Is that really necessary…?"_

"_I don't know… I'm really not that excited about all of this. There shouldn't be anything to be excited about in the first place. It's all so ridiculous… I don't even know what to think of it anymore."_

"_It'll be fine…"_

_It'll be fine. Everything'll work out, Chanel. You can do it. Don't worry about a thing. You're not alone._

If all of that's true, then why do I feel so alone? Even with millions upon millions of allies behind me, ready to risk their undead lives for this cause, whatever that is, I feel so isolated.

The mist is spreading, our breaths are coming out as vapour, but we can't feel a thing. Purple and cobalt for kilometres; the buildings in Paris were turning cobalt to camouflage with the night sky around them. London was just a pile of sparkling blue, steadily freezing – Paris was completely dark save for the faint outlines of skyscrapers and other buildings lit up by the moonlight. It was an anxious night for all of us. No one was in our way. Paris and London were lost. Everyone but us was slowly but surely freezing in their sleep, or fighting to stay warm. It's useless – the more they struggle the faster they'll freeze.

It's too late to care about everyone else. It's too late to stop everything because Fleur might not've kept her promise, and my only possible plan of getting through to Hermione to make Fleur have an emotional breakdown is gone.

Why am I doing this? Not because I hate the world, which I do; that's negligible. My wants are unimportant and they always have been. I've never enjoyed life while I was still alive, and now I'm my cousin's commander, essentially. I have my free will but I feel like I've given it to her. Doesn't she deserve it? She deserves the happiness I couldn't give her. I feel like I'm still punishing myself because all of this is my fault. Repository Chamber aside, if I'd found her earlier and taught her to not be so damn stoic, maybe we could have caught this earlier.

Maybe, what if, if only, if we'd just done this and that… Goddamnit all! Even if I supposedly have all of this help, no one will ever bear the weight that I do now. Fleur and Hermione will think that this is all in the name of love, just for them. I say I don't care about myself. I feel like I don't. I think I act I swear like I don't. Maybe I'm working off an imaginary debt to my only living family.

Since when do I accept being stepped on? Since when have I ever been a pushover? Why this…? Why now…? Why does it have to happen? Why does anything have to happen? Soon they'll want it so that nothing can happen but them. Won't they get tired of it? Putting up with each other for an eternity… I wonder how they'll deal with it.

Should I swear my loyalty to two women who, on the outside, won't give a damn about me and what I can do for them? I'm the commander of their protection even though they probably don't need it. I'm not just saying that they'll be powerful – who would be stupid enough to attack them in the first place? I know some people who would…

I don't know… I don't know… I don't know… I'm so used to knowing everything about everyone else, which I do, but I don't know a damn thing about myself. It's like I never did. And so I say that _I _am unimportant. Maybe I should just swear fealty to Hermione and Fleur. Forget this plotting mess; it's hopeless, no matter what anyone says… I don't know. I really don't know, but Fleur and Hermione aren't the only ones with an identity crisis, regardless if I'm not possessed or not.

Sad.

.

**A/N (April, 2013) **– Ugh. I really had no concept of indicating who is speaking in the dialog. Keep in mind I originally wrote the first twelve chapters of this story back in 2009. I said I'd never finish it, after a bad falling out with my lover at the time. Fuck that. I'm here, I'm doing this. Chapter 13 will begin with my current style.


	8. the world that never was

_tell me where it hurts and I'll try and make it stop.  
tell me where it doesn't hurt and I'll make it start._  
_we're all allowed our bouts of weakness and pain and hurt.  
but just because you feel it doesn't mean it's there._

_there, there. It's all right. It'll be over soon._

_**viii. **__the world that never was_

Rising, soaring, increasing, expanding; intensifying, as it all was, as it always ever would be. The plane that they were on in the world was getting higher; their room was changing; they were changing. With every throb, every ache, every pulse for more she felt herself swelling up with craving just as her lips continued to bruise and swell nicely. The corporeal heat on her mouth, in her mouth, around and on and in every inch of her body displaced the initial pain. Pain of the rip in between her legs, and the pain of having existed so long without it.

Hermione was slowly and sensually being raised up and down as she sat on Fleur's crossed legs. Fleur who was holding her body, holding her gaze, holding her high above everything; the penetration was deep and slow, slightly painful but pleasurable much more so. Hips were rolling into each other, taking turns to push out and be pushed down; backs were tensing and relaxing with the gyrations and timed breaths.

Her chest was rising and falling slightly faster than Fleur's. Part of the reason was from how immersed she was in the moment, so much to the point of having long forgotten her surroundings. Panting, she was. Pant after pant after pant felt harder and sharper and deeper and slower, mirrored by the motions in between her legs that were wrapped about Fleur's lower back. The pants felt slick and smooth, just as she felt in between her; slicker and smoother it all became just like their hold on each other.

Sweat was forming everywhere, threatening to drip thicker and louder than she was. The moans were deep and guttural just as Fleur's occasional groans were; the moans became more frequent the longer and harder she looked into those azures. The blue was dark with a sexual haze, but bright with a gentle gaze that kept pulling Hermione in, sucking her in, holding onto her and never letting go just like the strong arms around her body keeping her as stable as they could. The occasional graze of the tips of those nails made her skin crawl and convolute with shivers that cooled her down momentarily, only for her to be reminded of the heat in between her legs and to moan again from the pleasurable dichotomy.

Every rise of Fleur's hips made her gasp; the sharpness of the gasp depended solely on where she was in her thoughts. There were fantasies in her mind as Fleur kept going; what she wanted Fleur to do to her, to say to her, to ask of her; where she wanted this to happen and exactly how and when. The pulsations she felt were increasing and increasing, telling her Fleur was inching closer; the molten blue in her eyes were telling this to her, making her feel the heat increase everywhere inside of her. Every sharp breath and breathy moan and whimper she let out threatened to melt her, but Fleur's arms were keeping her sculpted well and still malleable enough to show her the product of her passions.

Fantasising for so long was no comparison to finally feeling Fleur feed her such satisfaction. The motions inside of her were almost too much; the slow, deep movements; up, and down; up, and down; up, right on that soft spot, and down; to torture her, and make the move back up so much more needed. Urgent. Vital. Pressing – _imperative, _as it was, as they were. The motions were so delicious, so scrumptious; so mouth and body-watering, but she needed more. The sensually sexual moment was setting her off over and over again, never failing to keep her wet continuously, but she needed more. The initial position was just for Hermione to get used to the feel, to get used to Fleur giving her the feel that she was gasping for air but still so high up already. She wanted more now. More. More movement, more motion; more, more, more, more more more _more._

She didn't even have to say a word; one look down at Fleur and a tug in her direction was enough for her to be guided back down to the cool sheets of the bed. Fleur didn't leave her, let go of her, or stop at all except to straighten her legs and move her head so that she had it in the crook of Hermione's. The way Fleur was holding onto her hasn't changed in the slightest, save for more need and urgency and care that was all put behind her ministrations. The gradual build-up from the slow movements that dragged Hermione along so evocatively to the fast ones slowly began to sate her and grate her; she was sated from the desire, the need fulfilled, but vexed because of how much more agonising it all was despite the increased gratification.

The sounds; the moans from her throat, the groans against her neck; the slapping of soaked, wanton flesh and rocking of the bed and holding and gripping of a sheet of hair – it drowned out everything else. Nothing else mattered. There was nothing else in the world except for the feelings the sensations the gyrations and ministrations. Keeping her hips in time with Fleur's as much as possible was all she wanted to do despite her screaming lungs. Screaming was on the border of what her voice was doing as she dug her nails into Fleur's scalp and back, but still urging the woman more despite everything. Her breaths were as shallow as ever, shaving themselves down even more the more Fleur kept going.

The very spot Fleur kept hitting was where Hermione felt her voice coming from – such a foreign voice, but the same voice was urging Fleur further. Guttural utterances of her name, breathy moans of the same five letter word and whimpers of the very same name were keeping her going, keeping her embrace strong and adoring, keeping her along faster and faster and harder and harder. The exigency was not impatient, not brute; not power-hungry. She was still affectionate through the speed; the fondness was seeping through her, dripping with her want to please the one in her arms. The dripping spread as a vast expanse inside of Hermione, and every one of Fleur's movements and sounds and breaths kept lighting her up, setting her insides ablaze with ardour, making the products seep right back out of her, begging for the cycle to continue through Fleur's movements.

The water-smooth rubbing inside of her was still building a spot of sweet tension right where Fleur was entering and leaving; building and building right on that very spot where she first felt Fleur's passion begin to enter her, only to move all the wet way up and drive her mad on the soaked way back down. The spot continued to expand and contract; pulsate more and more and devour Fleur whole, never wanting to let her go or for the emotive dilemma to end. Fleur would stop when they were both spent, but Hermione did not want this to happen any time soon.

She wasn't thinking about what was to come or how much she didn't want it – it was all buried underneath every husky expression of Fleur's name as often as she could get it out in between escalating pants. The panting was not to fill her near empty lungs, but to suck in the very ambiance of the air between them, adding to the heat of the moment. All Fleur could, would, and wanted to breathe was the saline of her sweat and her natural scents being released into the night air; all Hermione wanted to breathe was the smell of Fleur's sheet of hair that was beaded with sweat and painfully being tugged at. Hermione may have even been breathing in the air perfumed with Fleur's thrall exuding from her while the rest was being siphoned into her as fast and as hard and in just the way she wanted it for so long.

Once Hermione began to hear Fleur spread her name across her neck, her heartbeats managed to pick up beyond imagining. Fleur's tone was full of need in between throaty breaths, signalling what Hermione could already feel from the rapid increase of pulsations of the length still going inside of her. Hermione managed to calm down her grip of Fleur's hair and back, changing it to a compassionate hold instead; the vulnerable tone of Fleur's voice called for the change. Fleur still kept going, making Hermione blush from how subdued and susceptible her voice was in contrast with the speed and urgency she was still giving.

The pressure in between her legs began to slowly spread outward to her veins, to her limbs; making her go weak and tremble where Fleur wasn't holding her. The throbbing was outrageous and overwhelming; but in such a sweet way that made her keep moaning and whining for Fleur all the same. The moisture and the speed and the sounds from the wetness on top of Fleur saying her name in such a way made a pool tip over in her head, drowning out the possibility of thought – only feeling.

Feeling the images of Fleur in her arms still going and steadily increasingly ever more building and building into more flooded her while she shut her eyes. The want kept growing and growing; more and more she wanted wanted wanted _wanted _Fleur to come with such a dangerous want. The want was mutual; shared between them just as their bodies were. The want was still building, climaxing increasing progressively more and more and more and more, building and burning her right underneath her chest and seeping right through her; hearing her name over and over finally made her tip over with Fleur holding her strong.

There was a moment. One where she felt her blood take off and she was just barely keeping it stable in her veins to go along for the ride. It was a sharp move up that yanked her high and kept her there, making her body involuntarily arch up right when the cadence of her voice did the same. One loud rip of Fleur's name from her throat and a violent spill between her made her forget what it felt to be without such coital invigoration that Fleur helped her to finally feel again. Feeling a warmth gush right up inside of her kept her floating for just a little longer, and she didn't want to stop to catch her breath.

A white expanse was all she could see, nor could she open her eyes. The moment never seemed to end, though the feel of Fleur in her arms gradually faded away. It scared her and made her panic in the confines of her mind, but it was futile – everything was steadily fading away, flowing with the vestiges of her orgasm floating lazily through the stream of her body. There was nothing finite in the world anymore, nor was there even a world. Just an illusion in the mist – the mist of that beauty.

That beauty. The beauty that was being taken away from her, if just for a little while, as she continued to ride of her climactic plane alone.

Someone, or something, kept telling her to wait. Be patient. Stay in the expanse and wait while Fleur was being taken care of for a moment. Fleur would be perfectly safe, and she had no need to worry.

_Stay out of the world and wait until it is ready for you, just as I have done._

Fleur was in the same white vastness, running around in a panic. She was wearing nothing but a thin lavender sash that covered her from the shoulders down, flowing behind her with the same obsession she had about herself, growing more and more fearful by the imaginary second that she had lost Hermione. There were echoes swirling about her surroundings; echoes of echoes and echoes of those same echoes, reverberating and swirling through her ears. Echoes of…breathing. Breaths. Her quickened breaths from being out of breath from running so fast and so hard in such dire search of Hermione.

It was all beyond her control, she didn't know what was going on – all she could remember was that fulfilment of having Hermione in her arms in such a moment of craze. That same craze she felt, the craze that refused to leave her and the one she refused to ever let go kept her legs going in a vain attempt at finding her woman.

Running with nothing but fantasies in her mind was dangerous, but she didn't care. It kept her going and it kept projecting far off illusions for her to chase, all being concocted in the confines of her mind. It felt like ages since the separation, even though it should have only been just moments ago. Fleur had lost track of how long it had been since she started running. Running blindly, running with the only aim of finding Hermione and not her mind. She had no path and there was no way to find – her way, where was it? Perhaps she ought to start searching for that instead of Hermione.

_Yes, you very well ought to._

Fleur scowled and stopped. That voice.

_Hello to you too, my dear. How are you?_

Fleur couldn't say a word. The voice chuckled and corrected itself.

_My apologies. You wouldn't know how you are. You certainly know how you are becoming, do you not?_

"Do you not?"

Fleur balled her fists in an empty threatening gesture at the man before her. His coal eyes were amused and entertained as the rest of his body spoke to her.

"Well?" Tom Riddle asked. Fleur said nothing. "Come now, Fleur. I'm well aware that you're not aware of a thing except for your hormones, but that is certainly no excuse for your rudeness."

"What…have…you done…to me…?"

"Me? Do you mean me or _me? _We are both one, as you very well know."

"Answer me…"

"I haven't done a thing to you, my sweet. You acted on your own accord."

"I don't believe you…"

"Hm? And just why not? If you don't trust me then you don't trust yourself."

"I don't! I don't I don't I don't! I only do when I have Hermione, and yet…she's… I don't know where she is… Where is she?"

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me. Quite the same."

Fleur was determined by any and all means to not show weakness to the man. Tom folded his arms and shook his head at her, ripping out every drop of anger and infuriation she'd ever possessed. She didn't know what was going on, why she was there, where Hermione was, what had happened before and after the sex… She had no idea of anything. She didn't know anything except for what was intertwined with her identity having to do with Hermione –

"Yes, that's right," Tom commented. Fleur kept scowling and showed no acknowledgement to him. "Fleur… Fleur… Fleur…have I ever told you how beautiful you are? Especially when you scowl—"

"I don't need any compliments from you."

"Just because I'm not Hermione? Or because I'm me? But I thought we were one in the same? Dreadful dilemma we have here. Might I congratulate you on your performance just now? It was simply splendid."

Fleur, if at all possible, paled considerably while Tom gave a hearty chuckle. The paling turned into a furious blush on top of her confusion with where, who, and _how _she was.

"Confusion. You are most confused, yes. But so am I. I am confused as to how you are able to resist me so easily thanks to Hermione. And yet your initial vulnerabilities to her helped me to break down your barriers in the first place. True contradictions are supposedly all good and fun, but not this one. No, I'm afraid not."

"Where is she?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Tom shrugged. Fleur scowled even more and snorted. "You two may be running this show, but I would still like one last say in the matter before I hand you off to the world that never was."

"I don't want to hear it," Fleur spat. Tom feigned hurtful shock.

"You won't be seeing her until we're done talking here. Unless you don't want to see her, then I understand. But then again, what do you want if not her? All of your faith lies in her heart."

"What does it matter? I love her! _You _of all people should know that!"

"Oh, but I do. I am just here to make sure your change in existence goes accordingly."

"Change? What change is there to undergo? You're wasting your time!"

"There is no time anymore, Fleur," Tom said darkly. Fleur's expression didn't change in the slightest. "You helped with that. Tell me – how do you relate to Hermione? What is she to you?"

"She is everything and all that I believe in…" Only now did Fleur relax her face and dissolve her anger; Tom's remark about time didn't faze her at all. "It's all I can do."

"An obsession?" Tom asked casually.

"No…"

"She is absolute, is she not?"

"Yes…"

"And why can't you tell me anything about her unless I ask you?"

"Because I… I can't…speak of her…not… Not to you… Not so freely…"

"You are a very good poet, Fleur. I'm finding you hard to believe. You are perfectly able to purchase the power of words, the power of uttering all of your dreadful secrets, at the price of a little secret you are unable to utter… This secret being that you cannot capture her essence with words alone. Not by action, not by feeling, not by thinking or seeing – this you cannot do. Not yet."

"How do you know what I can or can't do when it comes to her? Not everything I do comes from a place where you have access to."

"What?" Tom was surprised by Fleur's conviction.

"The price I pay is not being able to say where all of this insight comes from. I know where it is; I _feel _where it is. It's the one place where you haven't been able to touch, hence why that contradiction of yours is so true. Now will you stop pestering me with this nonsense and tell me where she is!"

"How can it be there if you cannot put a name to it?" Tom spat disbelievingly. Fleur frowned in irritation.

"It's unreflective. I'm indifferent to it being objective, unlike you. It's decisive because I don't fret over it; I just feel it. Whatever it is gives me faith in her. Even if the rest of the world is telling me that it's absurd, that only makes me feel even more justified."

"…but it must have a name," Tom mumbled with a furrowed brow.

"Most people call it love," Fleur said indifferently. Tom twitched in annoyance. "Something you wouldn't know about."

"I'm a fool."

"Wonderful of you to notice." Fleur rolled her eyes while Tom put a hand to his forehead and shook his head in worry.

"This is…quite the situation…" Tom chuckled dryly and let his arm fall at his side. "I already thought it strange that she only calmed stopped panicking when I told her to wait and that you would be safe."

"She loves me."

"Hmph. She's just vulnerable to you. As you are to her."

"There's nothing wrong with that. But haven't you noticed that you've had no control over me ever since Hermione confessed all of those things to me the first night we spent together after I was released?"

"That is precisely why…I'm so…"

"Foolish."

"Nonsense! This is all a bunch of nonsense! You don't even know what I'm talking about!"

"Share your misery, then."

"…this is going to be our last encounter for a very long time I presume, if ever. First you two, then your cousin. I'm too weak to continue like this. That chamber had its effects on me…but I…"

"Wasn't expecting this?"

"Clearly not," Tom shot back. Fleur shrugged. "World domination through two women is already desperate enough. I won't even be able to control you. Nothing at all. I thought that tampering with your thrall and planting it inside of her would change more than just her physical appearance to the outside world."

"Were your questions earlier supposed to confuse me into being vulnerable to you again?"

"You've a sharp mind… But not sharp enough to be fully aware. Never again will you be."

"Are you sure?"

Tom chose not to respond. Fleur shrugged once more and looked around, trying to make sense of what was going on with her. The love was certainly there, but it was true that she wasn't aware of much else. All she could remember was Hermione, Chanel, and her pure and utter hatred of the world and everyone else in it. This seemed to satisfy Tom, though he still looked quite deflated.

"Subjectively," Tom began, "Hermione is your absolute, your universal. Everyone else who manages to survive long enough to flee exactly what is going on in the world is going to want her dead. And yet you still believe in her. You still do, despite what I've done to you to get you to such a point. She is going to change. You are going to change. And yet you'll still believe in her, in your…love…while I'm powerless to do anything. You can't change a thing I've made happen."

"I don't care about what you made happen," Fleur said impatiently. "I don't care about the world, Tom! If it's not Hermione or Chanel, I don't care about it! I don't!"

"You say that now," Tom muttered. "Your thirst for revenge is thanks to me, not you. You're not such a horrible soul like I am. Don't flatter yourself. You and I are one in the same, but you certainly don't naturally possess this intense hatred of everything. Nor do I have such a sickening love for your Hermione. There are distinctions between us."

"I don't care! We're done talking! Just tell me where Hermione is and leave me alone!"

"The latter is already taken care of, my dear. Revenge is exacting itself as we speak."

"Where is she!" Fleur finally closed the distance between them and grabbed the man forcefully, even going so far as to frighten him.

"Are you mad?" Tom asked quietly.

"For her. And only for her. She waited for me for four years, and now you're making her wait even longer."

"How many times must I tell you that time has gone clear out the window?" Tom asked with a wince; Fleur was digging her fingernails into his shoulders. "It's frozen! I froze it, you froze it, Hermione froze it! You two can live eternally without ever aging! I gave you resistance to the cold! Eternal glory!"

"I. Don't. Care! I don't care! I just want to see her _now!_ Right now! I can rip your eyes straight out of your sockets with these nails, need I remind you. I'm sick of talking to you. Now _tell me _where Hermione is!"

"…right where you left her."

Fleur let go of Tom and regarded him with a quiet incredulity. Tom nursed his shoulders and sighed, shaking his head.

"Maybe we're not so different," he said quietly. "I've no power over you anymore. You are no longer my puppet, and you only were once the first time you transformed. From the way you are with Hermione, it makes it hard to remember that you were in Slytherin."

"Maybe we're not, Tom. But I am me and you are you. You said you've no power over me anymore, so let's just leave it at that."

"Fine. Very well." Tom took a deep breath and studied Fleur very carefully before turning to make his leave. "Until we next meet. Knowing how much you still care about the finite makes me think that that time will certainly come."

In a gust of black haze, Tom was gone. Fleur shook her hands out and sighed before dismissing his last words. He simply didn't know what he was talking about. She'd thwarted whatever twisted plans he had without so much as feeling.

But plans aside, she needed to find Hermione. Tom said she was right where she left her. That would of course be their bedroom. Fleur looked about her surroundings; all she could see was white. Her memory of their bedroom wasn't working, nor was trying to simply remember Hermione's face.

And so, Fleur simply sighed and began walking, letting her emotions carry her along with a long string of hope that she would eventually find Hermione. It was surprisingly easy. Perhaps it had something to do with how Hermione had to wait several years, wandering aimlessly without her, with the burning hope of being reunited once more. Hermione did it once, and Fleur could also do it for any amount of time necessary. Time was supposedly obsolete, but her will and patience and faith were not.


	9. awakening

_attention, ascension – listen to me high.__  
you have no say in the height of the matter  
so just do as I fly.  
obey my wings and don't give me stings  
about how you wish you were grounded and deaf._

_disobey me and I might throw you in the inescapable mire.  
disobey _her_ and I _will _give you your deaf wish if you so desire._

_**ix. **__awakening_

_The wine-coloured vapour wrapped its way around and over and underneath every building, every tree, every person every thing on its way to the edges of the world. Slowly it went, mimicking vines, emitting creaking writhes, crackling and seeping with a heavy, stagnant softness that was both impossible and unbearable just like the cold. The frost, the freeze; the ice melted its way about the streets of Paris first, darkening its streets and everything it touched, eventually moving to the rest of London._

_One spot of London in particular was wreaking its willowy havoc on the fields; darkening the grass and slowly carving it to ice with dabs of frost throughout. The coagulation creaked and cracked its way down the black countryside, steadily bringing an unmovable shadow over every metre it went as it began spreading to a steadily freezing abode of wood just off in the distance._

_Inside the home were screams and slips and scratches in vain, of attempts to escape when they were really in no harm whatsoever. But the more they struggled, the more the Inferi would attempt to grapple them, to seize them – communication was impossible for fear of discovery. Septimus Weasley and Fabian Prewett were the two sent to silence their living relatives, and were strictly being controlled to not kill indiscriminately amongst the temptation that was Fleur's thrall perfumed with Hermione's majesty. _

_Fabian seized Ron who was still bellowing despite the increasing freeze and left in an abstraction just as the rest began to pass out. Septimus surveyed the damage – surely his family had also gone mad from shock of seeing them as alive as they could possibly be. The floor was as ice, the walls were cracking with cold; it seemed that all had stopped. The Weasley matriarch and patriarch, as well as three of their sons were there, on the wooden ice, pale, frozen and gleaming in the moonlight. The mauve began to encircle their limbs, preserving them just enough to simply let them sleep until the end of never._

_But that was not what their commander wanted. They had strict orders, after all. And so Septimus gently lifted his family downstairs and into the fireplace; thankfully, the Floo was still working. Somehow._

_Meanwhile, Harry and Ginny were suffering the same preferential treatment thanks to Sirius. The two were scared beyond their minds from just the man's presence alone to put up much of a fight. All of the Order of the Phoenix were being sent along by Floo, some managing to fight their way along after the initial fright from their respective undead horrors. Draco was also ordered by Lucius to be captured and returned to the castle with Ron for the commanders own private reasons._

_Grindelwald was the last to get to his subject, nearly having broken down the gargoyle leading up to Dumbledore's office beforehand. Hogwarts was finally receiving the fury of Fleur's thrall, slowly beginning its descent to deep freeze. Dumbledore managed to flee Grindelwald's harsh advances in the flash of Fawkes' fire back to Grimmauld Place. Upon arrival, he discovered an illegal amount of frozen bodies by the fireplace and the rest of Headquarters was completely frozen. Just before the freeze could render his limbs useless, he once again used Fawkes to remedy the situation in a blaze of scorching heat and flames._

An extensively long sheet of shimmering, immaculate dark chocolate brown hair began to sway with the tides of the wakening woman on her throne in a room filled with nearly transparent sheets hanging from the ceiling along the walls at her sides. A sizable chest began to arch out, hidden inside of a V of ink black feathers extending out like the collar of a fur coat, all on top of a silhouette of jet black that hugged her outrageous curves, finally flowing out to a lavender bottom that extended lavender ever so slightly beyond her feet. Above the chest curved a neck as she woke from her slumber, merely thinking and making the crimson beak for a mask about her face glow before it retracted to show her eyes beginning to flutter open just as her hair began to withdraw to stay dormant underneath her headdress with a golden offset and audible gleam.

A quiescent air was about the dark room, save for the specks of light shimmering from her throne of gold where she sat. A sound of air whistling ever so slightly with the withdrawal of hair permeated the room just before russet eyes stirred just enough to settle into a deep stare at the ornate door some yards ahead, accentuated by the faint refrain of earrings and jewels about her head as she began to lift herself with a curl of her back.

A black satin-wrapped body finally stood, assuredly. A rise of equally tightly covered arms led by ten talons all held in between the same material high above her head signalled her languid stretch, crossing her arms ever so slightly as she lifted her powerful gaze to her hands coloured blue from the bit of light reflecting from overhead. Chocolate followed the black back down as arms folded slightly upon their descent, showcasing to the whole of her throne room just how much her satin-wrapped body and slender neck deserved to be admired and revered and worshipped.

Her head was held just high enough, with enough assertion of her supremacy with body language alone as her heeled feet began to carry her along to the chocolate double doors ahead. The click of her heels rang faintly throughout just as the sounds of her jewels carried her along, her face set in stone, lighting her visage in a dreadfully powerful way that mirrored her walk and the swinging of her hips and her dress – sharp, cut-throat, elegant, sexual and deserving of respect. Her arm extended before her with a lazy rise of her wrist, further lifting her talons and palm just before reaching the double doors. The gesture made the surface simply melt upon contact, creating a ripple right at the centre of her hand and becoming aqueous enough momentarily to allow her exit from her room to the long, wide balcony giving view to her followers.

The near ear-splitting sounds of their cheering and applause so many metres below were on par with the dark echoes of heels clicking as she walked out into the equally dark night. The buildings beyond were completely overtaken by the shadows, the skies were just as grim, but the ambiance outside as she continued to her podium where one of her trusted Inferi stood clapping and grinning was much more tasteful. It tasted and smelled and felt of victory, of conquest, of _her _superiority over the mindless lot below. It was all ever so potent as she treaded with conviction up the small steps to survey the millions upon millions of her supporters, gratuitous as they all were. She rather didn't feel like making an appearance in person after so much time, but it would be rude if she did not remind them exactly who was in charge.

"…Lowlifes. …Shameless filthy wretches. How you still celebrate my reign with such joy. Hailing the very one you have condemned for generations upon generations, even in your sleepless slumber. Have you no shame? What happened to the evil, ruthless sorceress from your fantasies? The cold-blooded tyrant that slaughtered countless men and destroyed many nations? Where is she now? She stands before your very eyes, as your ruler.

"How long has it been? Why, technically, it's been ages since I have had my reign. Years, perhaps? Years. Have you any ears? I said _years. Years, _and yet you all have continually failed me. And you still cheer. You cheer because you redeem yourselves in keeping my castle perfectly safe, and yet this castle is very much empty. It is empty because I have sent _my_ knight and _my _commander to finish the jobs you all cannot hope to do correctly."

"Your Majesty…" said the Inferi to her immediate left. Hermione kept her eyes on the audience below, listening intently to him in particular; hoping, praying…wishing. "They're…they're not back. Not…not yet."

Pure rage awakened and shot through her flesh, sending stings to her talons and not at all making her hesitate to shoot her left arm out to her side with the same conviction. Nails and palm and wrist went right through the undead man, striking vital points in mere milliseconds and sending a green, noxious vapour about him. It was indiscriminate, but it was all she could do. The continued cheering may have even lifted her spirits ever so slightly along with the stench of re-death as she craned his body right over her head for all to see with a malicious scowl upon her face.

"This is reality. No one can help you. If Fleur and Chanel still have not returned with the bodies I requested in a fortnight, I will relinquish control from your commander. I wish to trust her, but I am having my doubts at the moment. Rest assured if they do not return soon – your time will come. Do not underestimate me."

Her hold on the impudent corpse was finally released as she threw the man down to the crowd before turning on her heel to return to her slumber. Sleeping in their bedroom was nigh impossible – there were too many memories there. Too many memories and not enough of Fleur. Sleeping was the only way to stay connected, to _feel _the woman even if she couldn't see exactly what she was doing at the time. There were glimpses, and these glimpses were good enough – she knew that Chanel was with her.

As she returned to her throne, there was still the underlying, unbearable pain from the weight on her shoulders. Fleur said she would not return until her duty was finished, but by this point, Hermione was completely unconcerned with finding anyone else anymore. Paranoia with defeat was beyond her now – she was aching far too much, however much she also enjoyed the throes of separation.

This time, instead of simply sleeping, she began to communicate her wants and longings and desires.

Fleur was still out in the impossibly dark night illuminated by the wide, bright moon overhead, doing what Hermione asked of her – find the remaining Order of the Phoenix. Only two hostages were brought to Pandemonium; Hermione was most displeased, and Fleur was not at all tolerant of this. She and her cousin were searching together, neither of them having slept at all. Fleur was the embodiment of determination during her search, and her resolve never wavered. Her azures searched and searched incessantly while she tried to wrack her mind, trying to remember exactly _where _their Headquarters were, for she knew they had one.

They were taking a rare rest, sitting on the cliff over a rather strange body of water of the English Channel that was not frozen. Fleur's hair was flowing along with the wind more so than her cousin's, possibly due to the purple of her thrall exuding from her. The feather of hair atop her head was prickling ever so slightly. She lifted her hand to her chest in between her amethyst vest, feeling intently for anything and praying that Hermione had awoken long enough to see that she had still not returned. She gently clicked her heeled mauve boots together, feeling the breeze settle in the fabric of the sash about her arms and hips, still feeling but not comprehending much of anything.

"I think we're too far from Paris," she told her cousin quietly. "I can barely feel her. She's trying to tell me something."

"She misses you," Chanel said flatly. Fleur nodded and sighed.

"Perhaps we should return."

"You can go."

"Why don't you want to come with me? She's probably trying to tell me she doesn't care about finding the rest of the Order. There won't be any more need to search."

"They're not what I want to search for at the moment, so don't worry about that."

"Then what are you trying to find…?"

"Don't worry about me."

"It's hard not to… You've been so distant ever since all of this started."

"Do you even know what _this _is, Fleur?"

"No, Chanel, I don't. You're being demonic with your silence, and it's bothering me. Have I done something to you?"

"You don't even know what's going on."

"No… No, I don't. All I know is that I have my part in the world, with you and Hermione, and I'm playing it accordingly."

"So the world's just your theatre? Is that it?"

"What else?" Fleur asked breezily. "I find the dark and drear quite pleasant. It feels as though the darkness is blessing our victory. Victory over mankind, over utopias, over everything wretched and unfulfilling. There is nothing that is not genuine in the world – all that exists is us."

"Don't you sound all chipper about it?"

"Really, what's wrong…? Is there honestly something I don't know about that I need to?"

"No."

"Well could you at least tell me what it is you're trying to find…? I worry about you."

"No, and don't. I'll be fine. Go back to Hermione. She misses you, like I said. You obviously miss her too."

"…fine. Just promise you won't be gone long. She'll get suspicious if you don't come back soon."

"Yes, all right."

Fleur gave her cousin a sincere smile before Disapparating. Chanel sighed and continued to sit, staring down at the beach-like area a very long way down; things just weren't panning out at all. Hermione was already suspicious of her, but was clearly choosing to not say anything because of Fleur. The woman was power-hungry, a ruthless murderer despite all of her victims already being dead, and she would only calm down whenever Fleur was with her and they were alone.

After giving another sigh to the moonlit winds, she stood up, but without removing her eyes from one spot in particular by the shore below.

Someone was there. An actual _person; _she couldn't pick up any faint smells of death from them. A mad curiosity enough to make her heart skip several beats made her jump down the distance and land in a crouched position with poise without a speck of pain. She began walking towards the person who was sitting against the rocky wall, seemingly staring out at the horizon without a care in the world. The sight was slightly disarming but still made her ever so curious. First the water wasn't frozen, and now there sat an actual human being who was alive. A woman, no less.

A woman who, she noticed as she continued to slowly approach her, looked terribly out of place, even more so, despite her being alive. There was an ethereal but still so human glow about the auburn hue of her almond-shaped eyes. The shape the curves made were very extensive, very sharp – just like the defined features of her face and high cheek bones – and very much contrasted by the relaxed air about her. Her russet hair was very long and very fine. Very fine, just like her attire. Just like…

"Who…are you?" Chanel asked sceptically as she stopped and stood in front of her, boring equally disbelieving eyes into hers.

"Mmm…?"

"Err… I asked…who you are."

"Grevet."

"Oh. You're French?"

"Mmm, no. But you should sit with me."

"Okay…" Chanel did sit down more or less _next _to her, wondering how and why she wasn't French but still pronounced her name with a French accent. "So your name's…_Grevet."_

"Mhm... What's yours…?"

"Chanel…"

"Like the perfume."

"Yes. And your name is like…"

"Gravity, yeah."

"Gravity…? And you just so happen to be here, by the ocean, on a full moon. The moon is making the tide high just from gravity alone."

"Oh, I'm actually stuck down here. I gave up trying to find a way out a long time ago. I can't Disapparate for some reason, either. But yeah, you could say that. You're pretty smart."

"Sure…" Chanel was really starting to wonder why she was so curious to go down there in the first place. "But wait, aren't you cold?"

"What…?"

"The… Well… Time…is…fro…zen…is it not?"

"I don't know. I've been here for a long time."

"Without eating anything…?"

"I conjure my own food. But who froze time? I didn't know you could do that. The water here isn't frozen."

"Yeah, I guess there's just something about this place… Either way you don't sound too concerned about time everywhere _else._"

"Mmm…yeah. I'm fine here, and I like this place, so I don't have much to worry about."

"Don't you get…lonely?"

"Not anymore."

"Why not…?"

"I'm not alone. Not now."

"…oh."

"Do you wanna talk? You know, just…talk. About whatever."

"I suppose… I've nothing else I prefer doing."

"Really…?"

"Yes, really…"

"Mmm…that's too bad. Or maybe it's not."

.

**Note (April, 2013) **- It is so frustrating to read this over for some reason. Anyway, if you Google Kuja from Final Fantasy IX, you'll have a visual of Fleur's new appearance. Tifa from Advent Children is Chanel's look. Edea from Final Fantasy VIII is how Hermione looks. I did drawings of them and the works back in the day. It's crazy how passionate I was about this AU...


	10. vim and vigour

_I just want to hold you._

_of course I'll let you.  
the only question is whether or not I'll let myself.  
let myself be held, that is._

_but how the hell can a simple question  
drive the best of us completely mad?_

_it's because I'm not supposed to question.  
I'm not supposed to doubt.  
I'm not supposed to speculate.  
I'm not supposed to suppose anything but you._

_nor am I supposed to act on human nature;  
only the nature;  
the truth that I love you too much  
to give a damn about anything else._

_**x. **__vim and vigour_

A tender reunion; a joining of arms, body, and, supposedly, mind and soul. However much it warmed Fleur to be in such a dark room with a darker woman in her arms, it was all a joke. A lie. A scheme. She was being fed; fed to live, fed to live only to eat and eat and eat. Devour the power exuding from what lay dormant just underneath the black satin under her trembling fingertips. Of course her fingertips were trying, possibly in vain, to drink Hermione's essence; to absorb something that she herself once had. But what was it? She knew what it was – she just couldn't put a name to it. A name. A label. A meaning.

Without that meaning, there was no point in searching for it. Right…? It was meaningless _because _the meaning could not be identified. Easily dismissed, then.

So…instead…Fleur only continued to hold Hermione. Glossing her hands down her every imperfection; memorising the form of that which she could only dream about. The form of what? The form of Hermione's power, what else? The woman was commandeering, assured, elegant, svelte; absolutely perfect. She was, to everyone else, as spotless and gleaming as the throne behind her. But of course, she had her secrets. Secrets…carefully locked away… Tender feelings that no one could ever know. Not even Fleur; not unless they were in their bedroom.

Their bedroom raised their vulnerabilities, but at least they were able to connect easily; more naturally there. Outside, there was to be a façade, even when no one was looking. Supposedly no one.

Hermione was paranoid. Power hungry. Relentless and brutal and thirsty for everything. There was a definite disparity with the way Hermione was outside and the way she was in their sanctuary. Fleur longed for the disproportion to tip in her favour, at least for the moment, but she knew that there were other matters at hand; she could, in fact, feel them emanating from underneath her own. Hermione was bothered; deeply bothered by the outside and underground world, even though the Inferi assured her that nothing and no one else remained. Fleur had no say in anything – she only followed Hermione. The reasons were negligible. The why behind anything was simply because_ Hermione_ said so, because _Hermione_ asked her to do this, because _Hermione_ demanded that.

For all intents and purposes, Fleur was still, and always had been, a nobody who just so happened to have assurance of otherwise. Forgetting was easy with love in her arms in the shape of an hourglass. But she had no means of ever turning Hermione this way or that to restart the grains from flowing, despite her work outside. Hermione was unmovable, and could only be moved by powerful currents of emotions that she refused to ever feel again.

"Forget the Order," Hermione hissed to Fleur's shoulder. "Forget them. I don't want you searching for them. It's too risky. You're not leaving me. Not again."

"But—"

"You _heard _me."

Hermione's conviction reverberated about the room, ran down the near transparent sheets around them and nearly fractured Fleur's spine while she tried to keep from flinching. Fleur merely edged a hand down a back curved with more defiance than elegance at the moment, cursing herself inwardly at her slip up. The chances of getting Hermione to retire to their quarters at all were slim to none now.

Despite the woman's paranoia that invisible enemies were out to get her, she chose to always sleep on her throne. Her justification seemed to be Fleur's hard work and determination to earn the throne for her. Either way, Hermione was very good about covering her paranoia, even if it meant replacing it with time to spend with Fleur. That time, Fleur fully believed, was to be earned. Finding the Order seemed to be a wonderful way to earn that time, but Hermione had other plans. She knew of Fleur's desperation, and was quite possibly amused by the whole affair. Anything to keep Hermione amused for an eternity was molasses to Fleur, and she ate it willingly due to a severe lack of options for anything else better to eat at the present time.

"Yes Hermione."

"Good… Fleur, love, do me a small favour, won't you?" Fleur was deeply relieved that Hermione's voice was at the usual, softer decibel reserved only for her.

"Anything at all. What is it?"

"Those prisoners are still in the Keep. The ones the Inferi caught ages ago. I've been meaning to interrogate them, but I've my suspicions that they won't want to cooperate. Still, I would rather use them instead of sending you off again. You mean too much to me, Fleur... I've missed you…"

"I've missed you too… I understand. You wish for me to bring them here?"

"Yes. There are only two. I forget their names. However, their names are unimportant. Just bring them to me, please. We can catch up later over a meal."

"As you wish."

Hermione said nothing more and made to be released from the embrace. Fleur eased her from her arms before watching Hermione curl her body about and saunter back to sit on her throne. Azures watched her in a silent interest, taking in every movement, every jingle of jewellery, every swish of hips with a humble fascination. The lids of her eyes grew heavy; heavy with the very ardour that was permeating her insides for the woman before her.

"Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to go do as I asked?" Hermione asked amusedly with a raise of an eyebrow after a long while of sitting; Fleur was indeed staring openly at her.

"Oh." Fleur smiled coyly at Hermione's enjoyment. "I apologise. You're just so… So…_alluring. _I can't help myself."

"Not even after all this _time, _Fleur?"

"I'm afraid not…"

Just as Hermione let out a small chuckle while shaking her head, Fleur smirked and shyly waved good-by to her before kneeling deeply and allowing the marble beneath her feet to materialise into ripples of white water. Fleur slowly slithered through the aqueous floor, careful to not even so much as blink; she wanted to savour every fleeting moment. The desire was absurdly strong for some reason – to always be with Hermione. It was almost…inhuman. Sick, even. But Hermione enjoyed it, and that was all that mattered.

"LET ME OUT! OUT _OUT_ _**OUT!**_ I! WANT! OUT OF HERE! DO YOU _HEAR_ ME?"

"Merlin Weaselbee, will you give it a _bloody_ rest—"

Draco merely continued to stare at the opposite wall of his dark, damp cell as Ron bellowed even louder on the other side. His expression was one of absolute disinterest and boredom with the triteness and sheer hopelessness of the situation. Neither of them had any clue as to what was going on, who was behind this, or what the point of it all was. But none of it mattered. None of it did. Why should it? They were powerless to do anything. Ron was useless enough as it was, anyway.

Discomfort and uncertainty were the banes of his existence. The food being sent in his cell was exquisite, even if it smelled of death. He was filthy, his hair was matted and long, he was in desperate need of a shave and shower and change of clothes, and he felt as though quite a few gears in his head had stopped turning long, long ago. His eyes had a deadened look about them; the man felt defeated by unknown forces. No answers, no explanations, no _nothing _for _years _it seemed. He still _felt _the same age, but a lot had happened to him, mentally, during his state of unrest and constant contemplation.

He had no idea how long he and Ron had been down there, but he was quite sick of feeling nauseous from the stench about him – the smells of course, yes, but there was also the stench of longing and lust and vagueness about him as well. The walls around him seemed to be made of some sort of rock that was a deep shade of violet, and he had his suspicions about the colour. The walls were also slightly jagged but conveniently thin for Ron's purposes; Draco oft heard the man whimpering and moaning in his so-called sleep. And, for once, Draco didn't blame him at all.

Draco was extremely dishevelled and alarmed by Ron's sudden cease of shouting. He heard the man quickly get to his feet right after the door to his cell appeared to have been opened for him. Draco's cell was soon opened by invisible forces, and he immediately stood and exited to survey what the commotion was about. As soon as he stepped out, he understood exactly why Ron didn't have it in him to say anything at all, including why he was so pale and yet so purple at the same time. So shock-ridden.

"Come with me."

Ron and Draco didn't have time to observe the woman's front before she whipped about and began strutting off at an unbelievable pace. They scampered after her, making sure to stay right on her heel despite their shock. Draco for one had a plethora of questions swarming his mind, and he was ready to pass out from shock or the absolute allure fluttering about her wake. But there was…no time for that.

No time to linger on her beauty, her attire, or why he couldn't find it in himself to stop her and demand answers from her. He felt like he had been ripped back into reality with Fleur's reappearance, but he still had the nagging feeling that something was very off if Fleur's _appearance _was any hint to anything. There was still the underlying truth of something more that had haunted him for an unknown amount of time.

However, Ron appeared to have a very different agenda and set of things in mind.

"F-Fleur… Wha' the bloody _hell _is…going on 'ere? An' why're you dressed like tha'? Y-You're… Merlin…will you…will you s-stop an' say somethin'? Wh-where _are_ we and wha' is goin' on—"

Fleur stopped abruptly as soon as they exited the damp Keep and were in the warmer area of the castle, appearing to be listening very intently to something. Ron unfortunately walked right into Fleur and fell backwards, also causing Draco to topple over in his frazzled state of mind. For _years _it felt like, not a word from anyone, but Fleur had been around the entire time and she looked like this? Draco had to admit he had the same questions as Ron on the mind, but now was certainly not a very good time to be asking them.

Thankfully for them, Fleur merely brushed herself off and ruffled her hair briefly before continuing on through a warm, rich-coloured room that appeared to be a two story gallery. The carpet was a deep crimson, the walls were high, and there was a vast amount of paintings about the walls. There was no time to observe the art, for Fleur was still walking very quickly and had them leave the gallery and into a similarly lit room but without the paintings. Draco knew he was absurdly filthy and felt quite unworthy to walk about such an astute palace, but there was still the burning question of how the castle came about in the first place. Among other things anyway…

After walking through several large rooms that were slowly becoming darker and more ostentatious as they progressed, Draco realised that he was staring just as openly at Fleur's form as Ron was. Purple did suit her well, and he was surprised at how potent her thrall was, even if it was visibly exuding from her in the same hue. The lavender sash flowing from the shoulders of her vest was hypnotising enough as it was. The clicking of her mauve boots atop carpet and wood seemed to be spelling something out for him that the swish of Fleur's hair about her back kept erasing only for the clicking to spell it out again and again.

"I'm hopeless…" Draco muttered to himself. Fleur and Ron appeared not to have heard him.

He sighed dejectedly and stopped his hopeless staring and patted impatiently at his overgrown hair and beard. If he had to be hopeless, he had a smidgeon of hope that he could get away from showing it. The small bit of arrogance and pride he possessed depended on it, even if he was clueless as to what exactly was going on.

Shortly after, they entered a rather dark room with near-transparent sheaths hanging about. The only light appeared to be coming from the golden throne they were approaching, and that glimmer was thankfully shining on the sheaths, furthering lighting the room adequately enough. Draco had tuned out Ron's pathetic whimpering long ago, but he himself almost felt like whimpering as well – there was just something about the room and the…_person _whom they were nearing. All he could see was black talons on the arm of the chair, but he felt ripples down his spine and rips along his throat, robbing him of the small bit of pride he thought he possessed just moments ago.

Fleur gestured for the two to continue in front of whoever was sitting and to stand a bit of a distance away. Her subsequent gesture was that of a bowing motion once they completed their tasks. Draco was not foolish enough to disobey her, even though he felt stupid for having to bow to some strange person, or thing, who he didn't even know or care for. He really wasn't sure what he cared for at all anymore, but getting on Fleur's bad side, if that even _was_ Fleur making to sit in the…woman's…lap…

_Hermione._

Draco nearly bit his tongue off to keep the surprise ripping from his throat as he and Ron stood where they were directed and turned to face the two women. The two women who had undergone quite the change; the only thing that seemed to have stayed the same was the colour of their skin and eyes and nothing more. But _Hermione…_ Draco regarded her evenly, wondering how on Earth she was able to fit into that dress. And what was with the headdress? The talons? The barely-hidden bits of malice in her sharp gaze? Why was Fleur able to sit so languidly and sexily in her lap? Why were he and Ron their prisoners? And why—

"_Shit, _I'm sorry!" Draco cried just as Fleur whipped her arm diagonally in their direction, sending a powerful vigour towards them, forcing both men to kneel deeply; they forgot an order and paid for it painfully.

Draco winced and took in a sharp breath while he braved looking up at the women; Fleur had relaxed once more, her arms wrapped about Hermione's neck, watching him intently behind narrow lids. Ron was visibly shaking, and it was taking everything Draco possessed to not do the same.

Hermione was regarding him amusedly now while she kept one arm about Fleur's body and another on the arm of her throne, fidgeting ever so slightly against the gold. Every clink of her fidgets along with the occasional jostle of her jewellery ran a razor along Draco's grimy skin. _Something _happened to his best friends, but he found that his determination to fix the mess was quite…non-existent.

Still, he needed to play along and do something. Anything to not have to go back down there. Hermione looked to be very amused, and Draco planned to keep that going for his own sake. Ron was the least of his concerns at the present time.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, sounding somewhat...excited to see her. Draco swallowed nervously when Hermione ripped her gaze from him to the man next to him. "It…it's been ages! Wha'…jus' wha' exactly is goin' on 'ere? Why're we your prisoners…? I though' we were your bes' friends?"

"Who…are you?" Hermione asked sceptically with a raise of an eyebrow.

"Y-You mean y'don't remember us…?"

"Apparently not," Fleur commented lazily. Ron had nothing more to say. Draco was only slightly stung by their failure to recognise them, but it merely fuelled his idea even more. "Would you mind explaining to her who you are?"

"We are Englishmen," Draco proclaimed proudly.

Fleur and Hermione returned their dubious gazes to him, but he wasn't deflated in the slightest. If Ron had the energy, he would have looked at Draco as if he had gone mad. The vibe Draco sensed from the redhead was enough to fuel his spirit even more. What _else _was there to do?

"Englishmen?" Hermione deadpanned, eyebrow still raised. Draco nodded fiercely.

"Yes Your Majesty, Englishmen! Englishmen important enough to be in the prison of _your _castle, mind you. What do you call this place anyway?"

"Pandemonium – the Castle Frozen in Time. It's very fitting. But you believe you are important, hm?"

"Very!" Frozen in time…? "Ignore our appearance, however! Clean, bah! Know nothing of the smell of man, food for the wicked. Like flies you draw them with the promise of ease."

"Right… According to the redhead, you know who we are."

"Certainly, yes! You, Your Majesty, are Hermione. And the one in your arms is Fleur."

"Fleur is my _Knight," _Hermione corrected fiercely.

"Your Knight?" Draco babbled.

"Yes… My Knight who is perfectly capable of getting information out of you. As am I."

"Your Knight! Your Knight, yes, yes of course!" Draco babbled again. What information?

"Now what are your names?"

"This is Ron. Ron Weasley! And I am Draco Malfoy!" Lying was to be avoided at all costs, even if it was odd that Hermione had forgotten who they were. "We are your best friends!"

"If this is so, then tell us what you know."

"About what, Your Majesty?"

"About Chanel." Draco noticed the small flash of anger that shot across Fleur's eyes. But why did it come about in the first place? Fleur's cousin was harmless. But Hermione didn't seem to think so. Draco had no idea what was going on, but because they apparently had 'information', he thought it best to simply play along.

"Ah…Chanel. She waits, bids her time for the ending, of the beginning!" He shouted gloriously.

"So she is against me?" Hermione spoke sharply. Fleur appeared to be frightfully passive. Very frightfully so, to the point of making Draco extremely dishevelled. But what else could he do?

"Quarrel, no, past deeds, yes, and more to come; her fault as all was and will be."

"Merlin, what's happened to you?" Ron asked quietly, incredulously; his voice was compassionate and full of pity. "You sound like a raving, babbling lunatic, mate."

"Keep your kind eyes. Know nothing of what I do, service to all, Knight to the world." Draco decided to just go on.

"What is she waiting for? What ending? How does she plan to end things?" Hermione sounded hungry for answers, but answers, Draco had none, and he knew he would pay dearly if he didn't keep this up.

"Answers, answers, this and all and nothing, you ask us here and know not why! Why trouble us? Now is not your time to know, Hermione."

"_Answers _are what you're here for!" Hermione said venomously. Draco didn't dare flinch at her rising anger.

"Here, here! Here is home! Home is near, home is with you and you go!"

"You're stark raving mad, Malfoy, she's gonna gut us," Ron muttered hotly. Draco tried his best to ignore him, despite Hermione's anger clearly rising exponentially.

"Forget about your _home,_ Draco. _Tell me _about Chanel—"

"As said, the one and the all, she is gone, her sentinel, her part, the one of many!" Draco chattered eagerly. He was trying desperately to hide his nervousness right along with Fleur still attempting to shield her fury.

"I said _tell me_—"

"Observe her!"

"She's _not_ here!"

"Her Majesty sees!"

"_Draco Malfoy!—"_

"BEHOLD!"

Draco stood up abruptly out of nerves and pointed south, though Hermione was not amused. Ron would have collapsed on the floor from embarrassment and confusion had he not been terrified that Hermione would make it so that he could never stand again.

And after Draco's _antics, _their chances of leaving the room alive were extremely thin. Draco had absolutely no idea why he was frozen in a pointing position as if he were a dog on the hunt, but what else could he do? He had no idea what the hell was going on, he literally felt like he had gone mad, time was apparently frozen, and his best friends had turned into evil deities.

"The two Inferi outside will take you to your chambers, and not the prison," Hermione said grimly. Fleur appeared to be holding back another fit of rage. "You may leave."

"Behold!" Draco yelled as he ran out of the room. Ron slowly got to his feet and regarded Hermione in a silent warning before following after the blond.

"Come with me," Hermione said as an order for Fleur to remove herself from her. Fleur did so, erasing the anger from her features as Hermione stood. "I'm quite hungry, aren't you? We haven't had a meal together in _ages. _I've missed you_ so_ terribly much, as you know. Now come."

Fleur watched Hermione make to leave the room, unable to hide the malicious scowl upon her face for only a second before catching up to take Hermione's arm. She was feeling more like a pawn than a Knight at the moment. If it was for any other ambition besides her cousin, she wouldn't care. But something was going on. Something. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to know what it was.

Eating was simple. The dining room was spacious enough and made for an ornate kind of simplicity. A diamond chandelier overhead, a handsome amethyst glass table underneath, and an adequate distance was between them along the elongated table. Just enough but not too much to seem distant from one another, though Hermione was no fool. She felt the distance Fleur was putting between them in their silence and the agonisingly slow pace at which the woman was eating. Food could be conjured any time, and in any combination and flavour they wanted. Fleur was the same way to her, but not when it came to her cousin; there had to be more reasons other than familial ties for this.

The black-clad woman still hadn't returned, and Hermione was suspicious of this. The Inferi only managed to capture _two _people out of however many she had requested. She was beginning to forget why she had requested them. Looking up at Fleur and giving her a small smile every now and then would not help her to remember. Placing warmth in her eyes when it should have already been there in the first place, always, while regarding Fleur would not sate her crazed obsession with her amnesia. The amnesia was what was making her paranoid, on top of the nagging feeling that this _Order, _whatever it was, would soon find her and remove her from power.

Hermione watched her elongated nails carefully as she ate her seafood, wondering why she had to be aware of anything at all. She was just fine, ruling over the dead. Being Queen was simply exquisite, though she didn't know why she enjoyed it. She wasn't sure exactly where the thrill originated from. She was never like this before, though she wasn't sure how she really was. Before. Before? Before when? There was no sense of time anymore. There was only now. Now, and Fleur. Though Fleur was feeling off. She was angry at her.

But would Fleur understand that it wasn't _her _that was doing this? It was something, some_one _else. It was inhuman; sick, almost, the thrill she felt from manipulating and controlling and fooling others. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what. Fleur was to be her entertainment; her amusement. Her power came first. Fleur was second. Chanel was third. That was how it had always been. But now that the third was nowhere to be found, and Fleur was not willing to speak on the matter, her triangle was broken. She was to have order. Order, routine, and no broken commands. If it meant having one line, one very straight and safe line instead of the other two, then so be it.

"Are you enjoying your meal, love?" Hermione asked modestly. Fleur didn't even look at her. "This seafood is quite lovely. I always wonder how they conjure such wonderful food, you know."

"I always wonder how you conjure up such a mess sometimes," Fleur muttered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't quite hear you. Would you mind repeating that?" Hermione was merely toying with the woman; she heard her well enough.

"Yes. I _would. _You_ heard_ me just fine, Hermione."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione looked affronted and Fleur set her fork down loudly.

"You were supposed to be interrogating Draco and Ron about the Order of the Phoenix, _not _my cousin. I already _told_ you she was—"

"Looking for something. Waiting for something. Did you not hear Draco? He knows something you don't."

"Chanel doesn't give a _damn_ about all of this, Hermione," Fleur said hotly. Hermione flinched ever so slightly at her conviction. "She's _family. _She's third in command. She's our commander. Why would she be plotting to bring you down? That's what the Order is doing, which is why you sent us to go looking for them in the first place, need I remind you. Now _stop_ this paranoid mess—"

"I am _not..." _Hermione was shaking out of anger ever so slightly, regarding Fleur dangerously who had stood to walk towards her. "…_paranoid."_

"Yes…you are," Fleur said as she reached Hermione's end of the table. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not ly—"

"Don't you _**dare **_finish that sentence!"

Fleur removed Hermione from her seat and held her gently by the shoulders, looking down at her fiercely. Hermione felt a sting of nostalgia nearly burn her from what Fleur had just said. She barely remembered saying the very same thing herself to Fleur one night when they were having a row; Hermione almost laughed dryly from the irony of the whole situation. Fleur had almost taken her for a fool that night as she recalled, and here she was, doing it to her.

"Fleur…it's…I'm… I understand that something is _wrong. _But it only comes about whenever you're…gone…for long periods of time. I don't even remember what the Order is…anymore… And yet I know they're a threat…which is why I keep sending you two…because the Inferi can't find anyone worth a damn. But neither can you…and yet you are my only hope."

"Hermione…"

"Yes…?"

"Who…are you?"

Hermione did a double take and looked up at Fleur in sheer confusion – the woman knew damn well who she was. Underneath it all, she was still the same person. She was still the same. They both were. Even if they didn't remember their own supposed best friends, what did it matter? They had each other—

"You didn't even remember Ron and Draco. They're our best friends and you had them locked away, forgotten about for ages. You're acting strangely, too. Besides this amnesia, you're paranoid, and now you're lying to me."

"If I'm not mistaken," Hermione said accusingly, _"you _don't even remember who is in the Order or where their Headquarters is, despite claiming that you were once a member. I'm not the only one who can't remember certain things."

"It seems to me that you're forgetting _everything, _and _not _just _certain things. _You're afraid—"

"I am _not __**afraid. **_Of anything! Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"And what of me, Hermione? What if something happens to me? Isn't that why you asked me to come back here? Or was it because you turn into some wicked tyrant whenever I'm not around? It's because you miss me and you're afraid I'll get hurt, or worse, turn on you because of my _cousin_. Is that it?"

"No it's not!—"

"And now you're lying to me again! What, Hermione? Am I supposed to be your pawn? I thought I was your _Knight? _Regardless if I'm not arrogant enough to claim to be your equal, I'm not someone to be manipulated! I don't just follow your orders blindly, either! Regardless if we've an eternity together, that doesn't mean I'll take anything lying down. I follow you because I _believe in you! _You are my absolute! But _not_ when you become some_thing _else!"

"Fleur, wait, I'm sorry—"

"You're sorry."

"Yes…"

"Then tell me the truth about my cousin. Why do you think she's against you?"

"…because the Inferi've all been failing to find the Order. She is our commander. She is responsible for their blunders. They should've found them by now. And they only returned two hostages out of however many I ordered to have brought here."

"Why did you want hostages, again?"

"To keep them quiet. To keep them warm. Because I cared…about them…"

"Which is why you prepared chambers for Ron and Draco, even though you don't even remember them anymore."

"Yes…I had forgotten about them until I began thinking about Chanel's mistakes."

"The Inferi aren't any better than the two of us combined. Not even we could find them on our own. It's not her fault, Hermione. She's not manipulating them. She is _not _against you. Stop being so paranoid—"

"And what if she is, Fleur? What if she is? I _n-need _this eternity—no, _we _need it! I remember _waiting _for you! Waiting for you to return, to come home to me! I swore I never wanted to go through it again! I never wanted to go another night without you! I don't even remember _why_ I was waiting, but…but that's why I _change _whenever you're…gone. I remember the _feelings_, the _pain, _even if I can't remember the form. It's…"

"An abstraction…"

"Yes…"

"Abstractions can't hurt you."

"But Chanel can. What if she's plotting something? What if everyone's really against us? The whole army? They'd kill themselves permanently if Chanel ordered them to, leaving me completely defenceless. Regardless if I could easily kill any one person I wanted, or several at once, I'm no army. I need her. I need you. That abstraction makes me remember that I can't trust anyone. But if I can't trust you two, if I lose you, then…then I'll go mad…"

"Hermione…"

It felt as if her head had been tipped back, her mouth opened ever so slightly, for the sole purpose of drinking the essence of Fleur's presence that she had been sorely missing for far too long. Her lips were fully exposed to the warm barriers keeping the quintessence in quietude, only now coming to the surface to wash away doubts and fears and lies and insecurities. The fervour she felt from Fleur's breaths and passions whispering down her throat, straight along to the rest of her, was complete bliss; it helped her to forget.

Her rage had been covering up the real reason why she was burning. It was partly because of the abstraction, partly because she longed to be held around her waist and back again as she was now. She missed with an almost lustful yearning how it felt to be explored, to be roamed, to be felt and basked in, even if it was all for the wrong reasons. Covering up her eternal problems with body and consciousness united in such a way would always be the best and only solution.

It was the best solution because she could literally taste the solution continue to flutter down to her stomach, setting her off, forever doing its job as the catalyst of everything she would ever need. Walking forward along the spacious room, eventually and slowly and deliberately; slowly but surely getting the chance, as she was now, to pin Fleur against the wall and press more need into her was what she wanted to focus on at the moment. Everything else could be dealt with later; much later.

But Fleur merely sighed before lifting her head and subsequently her mouth out of reach. Hermione found that she wasn't at all frustrated. Not in the slightest. Regarding Fleur with a soft ferocity akin to the look she was receiving was still keeping the ardour flowing within. Nothing had changed, but she found that her feelings were still growing, never slowing; always bringing her to Fleur in chains, even if she was supposed to be the one with the most power. Fleur had powers over her that no one could ever dare attest to; no one could ever dare put a name to. It was unnameable, but not without meaning. It was certainly not meaningless; it gave her life meaning. She was not the cold, ruthless tyrant whenever she was in Fleur's arms.

Cold was not even a word in her comprehension when Fleur was around; especially not when Fleur had her swollen, slightly moist lips against her ear, breathing softly and speaking quietly but still so powerfully. So passionately; enough to make Hermione simply _dissolve, _just as they were through the floor beneath them.

"Even if the world is against you, I'll still be your Knight. I'll protect you, even from myself. I made a promise to you at the very beginning. Just because it's the end of the beginning doesn't mean it's the beginning of the end. Remember this."

Cold returned to her comprehension, for the moment, as Fleur let go of her as they reached the area where their guests were staying. Fleur merely murmured something about catching up with old friends before she gave Hermione a winning smile and turning to leave. The temperature change was strange; she felt flushed in her face, but as soon as Fleur was out of sight, the coldness returned. It was not the cold of her blood and wrath; it was the cold of fear and loneliness.

Why did there seem to be so much distance between them even though they were under the same roof once more? Even though she could _feel _Fleur if she really needed to, she still felt so far away from her. Or perhaps it was just a part of being so deeply in love; feeling as though the very foundation of her world was being ripped apart simply because Fleur's arms weren't around her to keep it all together.


	11. nice dream

_addiction is not a problem…not an issue…nothing to worry about._

_addicted.  
addicted.  
addicted.  
addictedhermioneaddicted.  
addicted.  
hermione.  
hermione.  
._

_addicted.  
addicted.  
addicted.  
addictedfleuraddicted.  
addicted.  
fleur.  
fleur.  
._

_Who are you?_

_**xi. **__(nice dream)_

_And when we go, don't Blame us. We'll just let the Fires Bathe us. And when you go, Return to me, my Love._

_We're Damned after all! Through Fortune and Flame we fall! And if you can Stay then I'll show you the way to Return from the Ashes you Call!_

_We all Carry on! When our Cousins in Black are gone! So raise your Love high for Tomorrow we Die and Return from the Ashes you Call! _

_Darkness…bone-chilling rain…and a castle… A castle which embodied the quintessence of aged grandeur; but a mere dark silhouette against the steel-coloured clouds, only lighting when Nature allowed – a bolt of lightning… The darkness howled with the boom of thunder soon after, but it paled in comparison to the might of one that stood within the castle's barriers. _

_Rivulets of Misunderstandings and Ignorance beat a powerful cadence upon the walls of stone, the frozen glass, and it all played a stark affair for all to see atop the Enchanted ceiling of the Hall housing so many minds – old and young alike. The flickering candle lights floating overhead hovered over the faces of minds innocent, tainted, marred and bare – a powerful contrast._

_Even with trees threatening to fall outside, with life drowning from the torrents of Nature and a biting wind pounding the fortified walls silly, one woman stood strong against it all underneath the Enchantment of the beautiful sight just outside. Long robes, dark enough to rival the colour of the desolate storm outside billowed at her heeled feet. The woman stood tallest among her peers as she led them at the fore down the centre of the aisle, right behind the Deputy Headmistress with her poised, authoritative stride. _

_But this student - elegant, assured, powerful, and cynical she walked – her stride embellished her confidence and a very wild twinge of a natural sex appeal; a twinge because of the sickening stares she received. Received, and was all too automatic to ignore now. Her mind was worn but at the ready – ever eager to learn more. Eager to prove everyone wrong... Eager for revenge, to snatch her chance at life, and to forget… _

_Red mist. Red…everywhere. I see her there. I feel as though I'm taking something I oughtn't to in order to be happy. Maybe…maybe that's why it bleeds. Time is bleeding because I wounded it so it couldn't get away; so that it couldn't escape me._

_I see three silhouettes – all are black; the backs of whomever they are. I know the centre is my Hermione. The other two…I don't know. I feel as though I ought to prove myself, for my hand reaching out to her won't let me touch her. I kneel down for her and speak, my heart beating and pounding and clawing at my chest for her touch, or at the very least, her approval of my words._

"_I have elevated her into the absolute which _I alone _will adore and sanctify. I have infused my absolute with subjectivity – Hermione exists for my sake alone. I do not want her to be admired objectively, and I prefer to think her unknown and unrecognised. My appropriation of her is greater if I am alone in revealing her worth."_

"_You have raised her into complete control which _I alone _will manipulate to rip you apart. Hermione exists for my sake alone, not yours. I only see her as a tool; a mere pawn for my ambitions. I know everything about her, Fleur – you're not alone in increasing her worth with every passing frozen second."_

_The two at her sides spoke to me; warped my words around and kept Hermione from turning to me. Still, I'll not let my resolve waver. _

"_Passion is infused with, and animated by, subjective impulses. Maniacal passions are deformations of freedom, or possessiveness, neither of which I possess. I am tragic, admirable, and horrifying, am I not? Tragic in that my whole life's involvement is with a woman who can continually escape me; admirable in that you admire the pride of a subjectivity which chooses its end without bending to any foreign law, for Hermione _is _law. The precious, powerful brilliance of my woman is revealed by the force of my assertion, and I dare anyone to tell me otherwise."_

"_You possess an insatiable addiction; impulses for her will soon rend you asunder. I have not chosen to remove Hermione from you as of yet. Time, time, time; frozen, frozen time is all I need. How foolish you are. Foolish, foolish, foolish… The conviction of one's assertion is no indicator of its validity. You of all people should know this."_

"_But there is horror at the solitude which passion imposes for Hermione because I, having withdrawn into my own world with her, can only realise my freedom as an assertion."_

"_Fanatic. Fanatic. Do you hear me? You. Are. A. Fanatic. Pathetic, Fleur. You can only see your toy for freedom as an abstraction through someone who can continually escape you. Abstractions, abstractions…"_

"_Because I have withdrawn into my own solitary world, I inevitably appear as a stranger to you, and as an obstacle to a communion of freedom. My resistance to the freedom of others gives me an inert facticity – I seem…strange, and tyrannical, do I not? Hermione is the only end or ideal that I value; everything and everyone else in the world are negligible. I do not intend my freedom for you; I will not hesitate to treat you as things."_

"_You are no stranger to me, Fleur. I know you well. Very well. Do not resist me. _You _don't love her."_

"_To love Hermione, as opposed to possessing or her possessing me, is to recognise her as a free subject in her own right. As something strange, forbidden, and always capable of escaping all attempts to possess her. Love is the antithesis of passion, in that love demands renunciation of all possession. And to love Hermione genuinely is to love her in her otherness and in that freedom by which she escapes. I love her."_

…

_Why do you grow silent?_

_Have you no response to that?_

_Where are your smart remarks now?_

_You've nothing to say against that, do you?_

_Nothing at all, hm? No? No? And just why is that?_

_Why aren't you saying anything anymore? Why aren't you?_

_Because you know I'm right. You can't manipulate what you can't control._

_Let the shape of my words be the very pedestal that I will always and forever continue to raise her upon._

_Rip me, tear me; rend me asunder. Do it…please. Please… You don't understand…how much I've wanted to see her. How long I've been waiting. Four years…four years, and I feel like I still have to wait. We're supposed to be happy together, and yet I'm still so paranoid. I still have these dreams of losing her. I still feel like this eternity keeps escaping me every time I close my eyes; every time I blink, even. Every second that goes by that she's not reflected in my eyes, I feel as though I've gone blind. _

_Who else has nightmares about walking up endless stairs and not getting tired? White stairs, might I add. Stairs to a certain building that housed my Fleur for years and years, and not once was I able to see her. _Oh, just move on, Hermione. Find someone else. She's not _worth _it! This is bloody ridiculous and _so _not like you! _Well what the _hell _do you know, Ron! Just what do you know?_

_And now you're running from me, again! Running and running up these bleeding stairs with me chasing right after you. Running panting wheezing bleeding dying; these stairs are bleeding to death, just like I am on the inside, and you don't fucking understand! Your way of understanding is realising that I've gone mad, and then you start to run away from me! And to top it off, you're still SO damn surprised when I chase right after you! How __**DARE**__ you practically insult Fleur and think you can get away with it!_

_What made you even _think _that I'd give her up? What made you think for a fucking millisecond that I would _ever _lose faith, all because I have to suffer four years without her, surrounded by bumbling idiots like you? If anything it makes me want her even more! More more more more more, Goddamnit! I want her I need her I long her I yearn her I bleed for her; if anything, I _am _her! She completes me, she makes me see that life is worth living for, even if I do feel like shit right now!_

_But even if I am sick of chasing you up these bleeding steps, even if I feel like I'm going to slip in the pools of blood on every plane, this is my conviction! My assertion, my justification, my validity that I. Love. Her. I love her! I love her I love her I love her and I don't give a DAMN what you or ANYONE else thinks!_

"_The cause of your torment is your distance from me, and you're accepting it instead of trying to eliminate it."_

_Yes…yes I am… But all the while I'm still trying to _eliminate _this…this foolish man that's trying to tell me that I'm mad for loving you as strongly as I do._

"_You find joy in the very wrench which separates us. You love the unhappiness. It's all you have left of me."_

_It is… It is… It is…_

"_Your maniacal passion represents a damnation of yourself. It disunites freedoms. It leads to struggle and oppression. You are a woman who seeks being far from anyone else but me; you seek it against everyone else while at the same time losing yourself."_

_You're right… I've lost myself. I've lost myself. I'm damned. I've damned myself. I've damned myself._

"_You're a real Queen of the Damned, Hermione. But I'll still love whoever you become, remember that."_

"_My love is a fever, longing still, for that which nurses the disease; feeding on that which preserves the ill, the confusing sickly want to please. My reason, the physician to my love, angry that his prescriptions are not kept, has left me, and I now desperately prove that desire is death, which physic could not do._

"_Past cure, I am, and I care not. I am frantic…mad…with evermore unrest; my thoughts and words are madmen's, they are random and truth is vainly expressed. For I have sworn Hermione fair, and __know __her bright – she is my stubborn, scowling angel and will forever be my…Light.._

"_Or just an angry angel, so says Fred. Or George… I can never remember who is who. There is something…fulfilling about this situation we're in right now. Hermione is always angry at me…angry at something I can't control. I keep hearing __voices… __voices saying that I can have the power to make it all stop… I can have the power to make her my Queen and sell her my soul and bring the very universe to her feet…_

"_Would Hermione still love me if I did seize this power I'm supposedly to inherit…? Aspire to whatever greatness it is I am supposed to achieve according to Lucius Dearest… But love is not love that alters when it alterations finds, is it not..? If she doesn't love me anymore after that then she never loved me to begin with… Oh, no…love is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken, right? It is the star to every wanderer…whose worth's unknown, although his height can be taken._

"_I can say that I love her more than anything I have ever loved... but I can't measure that. I don't want to… Death…is inevitable…as is the passing of beauty...but love is not subject to change – only growth… I know my love is ever growing, never slowing; Hermione always yanks me up and rips me back down in chains to her, making me beg to her, pleading to make the pain go away… she doesn't like me this way. She hates me… She's told me too many times to get away from her when __all I want is her…_

"_But love bears everything out, even to the edge of doom… she still loves me; she hasn't left me, though she's __always __pushing me away... She hasn't left me because she still loves me and she's __trying… __God she loves me… maybe I should take this power. Maybe I should seize it. Maybe I should make it so that I can easily give her anything she wants, build her a throne atop the highest cloud and make her a new universe, just for her, on her new place in heaven. I want her to sit beautifully, flaunt her power with her majestic grace, and watch __her __creation, my hopelessly lovesick self, be her pawn. Her knight, her Light, her __everything, __most especially…at night…_

"_She would still love me…wouldn't she…? She would… if not, then she never really loved me and no one ever will… if this is an error, and I'm proved wrong…then let it be truth that I've never written or uttered such praise for her. Let it be truth that __no one __has ever loved if I'm wrong about this… And let this sickening, feverish passion I have for her die….die before swaying like a willowy wisp in the wind before her so that she can blow me out… At least give me that much…"_

…

_Do you remember reading that?_

Yes…

_How did it make you feel?_

I can't…_tell _you that…I just can't. I don't know how, Fleur.

_There's a paragraph missing. I'm afraid I didn't memorise it._

It's fine…

_Really?_

Yes, really. Honest.

_All right. But look at where we are! Right on top of our castle, overlooking the expanse. You're here in my arms, my wing also keeping you warm. I'm your Knight. I've succeeded! My romantic dream has finally come true!_

I've never seen you so excited over anything, love. You must've really wanted this, hm?

_I have, Hermione. I have. And now that it's here, now that _we're _here, I almost don't know what to do with myself. _

Can't contain yourself?

_Hardly. Come, I'll fly us someplace. Someplace special. We can kiss the entire way there, and maybe even something else. It'll be a good challenge to keep me in the air. What do you say?_

Oh Fleur, I don't know…

_Come on, let me do this… Let me do this for you…_

For…me…?

_For you…yes._

But I'm Damned.

_What? Well if you are, then so am I. You're my Queen, and—_

I'm the Queen of you and me.

_Yes! Yes, that's exactly what I've wanted you to be for the longest! Now let me fly us over your reign._

No. This is where it starts; this is where it will end. I'm staying here. The Inferi are coming again. I'm more Damned than they are. Being the Queen of just two people, or one if you count what's happened to us both, doesn't seem so grand.

_But Hermione…I thought you wished you could be my equal or greater? Don't you remember when you thought I was above you? You were the one who had power all along. Don't you remember how the switch happened?_

No.

_Let me show you:_

_Fleur and Hermione stood across from each other along the long row of tables in the Great Hall that afternoon. The Enchanted ceiling showed a clear December sky, the students surrounding the tables were looking on in glee, and Lockhart was beaming as opposed to Snape, who was looking smug for once – Hermione didn't look very certain of herself during this confrontation._

_Snape had insisted that Hermione face off with Fleur since no one else was brave enough to do so. Even now, Hermione felt the nerves attack her and make her knees weak; Fleur was standing in profile just feet away from her, her wand held lazily in front of her at her thigh… She looked fearless. Her sapphire eyes were dark with resentment and a modest indifference for being paired with a girl whose practical skills most likely left too much to be desired. _

_Hermione's mind was racing while she too stood in profile, but her hand gripping her wand was trembling; she knew Fleur could tell. Fleur was also seemingly waiting for her to make the first move. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, thought Hermione. They were the same age, they had the same amount of practise… _

_A foolish pool of pride swelled in her heart while she kept eye contact with Fleur, completely oblivious to her folly._

"Incarcerous!"

_Hermione tried to send ropes to attack Fleur, but the French girl's reaction nearly knocked her off her feet – Fleur elegantly swished her wand up in a vertical motion, using a non-verbal version of_ Diffindo_, the Severing Charm, to cut the ropes before they even made it to her side of the room…_

_Everyone except for Snape was baffled, amazed; Fleur merely stepped forward, no longer bothering to stay in profile. All eyes stayed on her with as much dazed concentration as watching a tennis ball go back and forth across the court, on top of the students being enraptured with her presence. Hermione took a step back, thrown by Fleur's mastery of non-verbal spells; she couldn't win this battle at all…_

_Fleur kept advancing and Hermione let out a strained whimper; she hit Hermione with a Sponge-Knees Curse, rendering the girl incapable of movement. The fear in Hermione's eyes did not faze Fleur; she kept walking. The foolish pride Hermione felt turned into boiling anger and fear that Fleur was so experienced. Fleur would forever beat her at everything, no matter how hard she worked… But that just can't _be…

"Stupefy—"

_A Silencing Charm, successfully negating her weak and silly Stunning Spell, assaulted Hermione and now she knew she had lost. The students and Lockhart gasped; Fleur continued to advance. Hermione was blushing furiously, Fleur was getting closer still… The sound of her heels clicking and clicking underneath her skirt was maddening. The cheers of the students for Fleur to finish Hermione off was mind-boggling… How did she learn so much…? Why didn't Hermione think to become this advanced as well…?_

_It was over… It was all over. Fleur was just a few steps away from her now. Fleur was probably going to say something to Hermione; it was at this fearful moment that Hermione realised she and Fleur had never uttered a word directly to each other. The tension and fear was taut now; the cheers kept bouncing around the Hall, her knees were still sponge, her voice still could not work… Snape must have known about Fleur's superior abilities – this just wasn't fair at all! What kind of Second Year already knows how to perform non-verbal spells?_

_But the second Fleur was within two steps of her, she stopped. The students and Lockhart waited with bated breath for Fleur's next move. What would she do…? The fear in Hermione's eyes probably gave Fleur some sick satisfaction. Hermione felt like sobbing, but then Fleur did something she wasn't…quite expecting._

_Fleur reversed her Curse and Charm. Hermione and everyone else but Snape was shocked. The Gryffindor simply stood there under Fleur's powerful, cold gaze, frozen with fear. Her heart hadn't beaten so fast since last year in her, Harry and Ron's efforts to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone. What on Earth was Fleur planning now…?_

_Just as Hermione was about to possibly say something, her jaw clamped shut when Fleur got down on one knee and bent her head low. Hermione watched the sunlight dance on her platinum silk locks, completely paralysed; the Veela set her wand down at Hermione's feet, then looked back up at the frightened and still somehow amazed lion before uttering her surrender to Hermione and the end of the Duel._

"_I concede."_

"_I love you, Hermione… _truly_. __From what you just said, you p-probably don't believe me. You probably think I'm lying b-because of this disease, this _thing_I can't control, this _whatever_i-it is.. But y-you helped me become aware of it now.. I'll fix myself, I swear I will.. or maybe it just…has to do with you. Maybe it's your fault.. have you ever thought of that..?_

"_M-maybe my love for you is like a fever.. now it most especially is, out in the open where Enchantments can't compress my desire. And it's longing still for that which fuels this disease even more. It's _not_the _vertigo_, __Hermione! I love you and _whatever's_wrong with me is feeding off of that! I don't know for certain but I feel it! And I always have this craving for you, for it, to make it all stop but it just ends up getting worse and worse however sporadic these shifts are._

"_Trust me, Hermione.. I can feel what the problem is but I don't know how to control it… I'm beyond the point of being cured.. trying to find one may end up killing me because I just _can't _live or give if living is without you. My thoughts are crazy and _none _of this will __ever __make any concrete sense to you.. Because _everything_you know must be concrete for you to analyse and dissect.._

"_And yet… you know something..? I told you that there's a voice inside of me, telling me to give, give, _give _to you… I _told_you I was getting to the point of insanity from _needing _your touch.. but it's when you push me away like you had to do just now that makes me get worse.. and you're afraid of that. So all of this really is a disease.._

"_But if it's a disease to be in love with you, then so be it. If it's a disease to cry every time you run from me when all I want to do is hold you in m-my arms, then fine._

"_And if it's a disease to die if you can love me back, then I'll take it.. I'll deal with it. If you're scared, then why can't you tell me that? What happened to us? Why can't you trust me?"_

_Hermione felt like a phantom while she barely registered her body turning slowly around to face the one who had just said all that she never thought possible for anyone to say to her. Her heart was stinging and still somehow so warm, easily shielding her from the cold despite her numb body. What stung her the most was what she was bearing witness to; something she knew no one had ever seen in years –_

_Fleur really was crying… _sobbing_, __even. Silently. But she still was. _Fleur. **Crying. **She_made her cry. Hermione thought that such a thing was impossible. But she had powers over Fleur that neither of them knew not. Fleur had the same effect on her. And her words… God they all made sense. She had drank every single one of them as they floated to her, and she was still repeating them over and over in her head as her own voice that she needed to _give_. __They'd both become nearly power hungry for the past four months that she felt so strange._

_But even still… Fleur_ really _meant everything that she said. No, it wasn't concrete as to what was afflicting her, but it was all they had. And if it _was _true…_

…

And it was.

And so it began. The awakening of something more. Awakening, awakening; blistering eye-opening that revealed to her what she really was and wanted and forever would be. An addict, a seeker and bringer of death. Drinking her love felt all too similar to a lesser fiend that found many joys in the drinking of blood. It was inevitable, indefatigable, inexorable what she was doing, even if it was the simplest of gestures to prove to Hermione that being Queen of two was akin to being ruler of an infinite amount of subjects.

Waking up from such strange dreams was both frightening and liberating. Of course the dreams were strange and shared; Fleur took this opportunity to show Hermione her worth. Exorcising the unspoken fear from Hermione's body underneath her own was all she could do. No barriers were between them; no interruptions could be heard of in their sanctuary. She pushed the earlier interrogation with Ron and Draco out of her mind – the two were useless idiots who knew nothing of what they spoke. She didn't even know who they were. Not really. Not important. Not worth her…time.

_My pawn…that is what you are._

Fleur gave a quiet moan of approval and tilted her head ever so slightly as a nodding gesture; half to agree with Hermione, half to beg for further entry to her mouth. That was all she needed – a needy hand caressing her back and those lips to caress her own. She needed nothing else; no one else. Nothing else mattered, no one else mattered; all she needed was to feed the flames, fuel her faith and continue to exude from her pores the love and adoration she possessed for Hermione and Hermione alone. Possession took on an entirely different meaning.

All she possessed was what she felt for Hermione. All she was, was what she possessed. All she possessed were abstractions.

And Fleur drank from Hermione the honour that she was in. For those still alive, for those who had died; for the monsters she had been. She loved tyranny, unapologetic apathy, because there was no way she was going to let things go back to the way they had been. Through everything, how could Hermione be crying at such a time? How could she cry for her? The dreams had shown Fleur too much, reminded herself of far too much, but Fleur didn't feel bad about it. The hardest parts for Fleur were the awful things that Hermione had seen without her, but still burning so strongly for her. Burning to the point of insanity, but still loving the blaze.

The dreams were dichotomous to Fleur. Breathing her soothsays down Hermione's throat, feeling the amorous zeal overtake her from the reciprocity, and simply feeling bare skin on skin was her longing. Pleasing Hermione sent her on a high that she would be damned to be ripped back down from. The only grievance she had with them was that Hermione would still put on her black dress and mix in with the lot even if Fleur ever woke up and noticed that she was someone that she was not.

_Can you hear me cry out to you with words I thought I'd have to choke on to figure out? _

Fleur gave her nod once more and deepened. Everything. Touch, mouth, soul, passions – all into Hermione. Anything to make the voices and crying stop and to get more words and cries of approval for her actions. Her mind was going places that she wasn't very keen on paying attention to. All she wanted to do was feel, to experience, to _be. _She didn't want to venture anywhere if it wasn't with Hermione.

Body heat, tangible passion; that was all she _needed. _Rhyme and reason were long forgotten. Her survival depended on the woman underneath her that was gently scratching her nails down her back. The shivers made her knees bend, legs intertwine, arms encircle harder; the need was practically constricting them both, making them spin down so much harder into their own demise, but not even what they had seemed like enough. Nothing ever would be.

Absolutely nothing.

Fleur was bound at every limb to serve, to please.

"And down we go…and down we go… And we all, fall, down, right…now."

Fleur stopped. She didn't even have to open her eyes to see the rage in Hermione's eyes. Surely she was just angry because they'd been interrupted at such an opportune moment.

She took a deep breath and gave Hermione one last brush of her lips to calm her as she flicked her arm and clothed them both. Soon after, she gracefully left the bed and strode over to her cousin who was strangely scowling at her.

"Chanel, what's the problem? Why do you look so angry? Did you find something?"

"Yes, Fleur. I most certainly did. Come with me."

Fleur smiled and nodded before turning to Hermione and bowing deeply as she and Chanel left the room by means of the floor directly underneath their feet slowly melting its way to the next room.


	12. dancing mad

_slow dancing in a burning room  
seems so pointless, so momentless._

_why bother doing that when I can just_  
_tell you all the ways you've burnt me_  
_killed me_  
_made me die all over again._

_**xii. **__dancing mad_

_Black trainers, white shoes; blood, dragon – both upon some kind of floor. Chocolate, russet, chestnut, some kind of brown. Some kind of kind different than mine. Kind enough to let us keep walking along this wooden ground, spreading the news, spreading the Charms. I'm no kind person at all, but I think she is. She's kind enough to have brought me down here; she was waiting for me to find her. She watched me silently while I sat on the edge of despair and smiled as I jumped down a height that would injure any normal person. But she knew about me. She knows. She knew everything for the past two years and was waiting for me to find her again._

_In my addiction, my obsession with two women, I forgot about the most important one in my life. She was right – I really wasn't awake. I think all it took was for her to hold my hand and blow a raspberry in my ear for me to remember again. Remember my old Therapist practice? I had someone in the same field as me in every sense of the words. She was absolutely amazing, and she still is – let her get mad at you if you're resisting and she'll make you pay, _mentally_, for anything and everything. It stopped working on me after a while, but I'm sure if I piss her off royally, she can work her old magic again._

_But what I didn't know was that she'd gone through all of my work during my two years of near comatose. I had someone working on a solution to everything without my knowing. I'd written Voldemort's plan over and over so many times in so many different journals around _our_ house that of course she solved it all – that body of water was her experiment, and it finally worked._

_Now I'm just praying this Anti-Freezing Charm will work on all of these people down here. It's powerful to the extreme, just for the occasion. _

_I've been looking for so many things that I didn't even know I was looking for or had even lost to begin with. I'm not sure whether to blame Voldemort or myself for forgetting her. We lived in the same house, but it was as though she were invisible to me. I never noticed her, but she was always there; following right after me. I'm pretty sure Fleur and Hermione noticed her, and probably even spoke to her on several occasions, but her existence had been deleted to me for the longest. Why is that? I'm not sure. A lot happened to me on my birthday all those years ago. She told me it's been nearly fifty. Hmph…no wonder Hermione's suspicious of me. _

_But now I know why her thirst for this eternity is so powerful if I see things from Grevet's perspective. She spent two years right in front of me and I never once noticed her. Not once. Add fifty of waiting on me to find her again and you can see why I can't find it in me to express how I feel about all of that…not now._

_The people down here are so…so…happy. They're happy that we're helping. Even the Muggles don't think we're mad by using magic on them. They've been exposed to magic ten times over from what happened; Wizards helped a lot of them get down here once they got wind of what was going on. The ones that thought the world freezing over was complete bullshit are still paying for it on the surface, but I'll get to them as soon as I can. After I pay a visit to some old acquaintances._

_This place is pretty cozy, I suppose. This area we're in reminds me of a trading dock or something of the sort – all kinds of people are out and about, exchanging food and supplies and overall helping each other out. They've created a regular metropolis out of this place, and fifty years has been long enough to improve their magic and the world down here. Some have told Grevet and me that they like it down here just fine, and the bits of mist that comes down helps to preserve their youth. But eventually more than bits will float down here and destroy everything they've worked so hard on. Plus, they can't see the sky from down here. I promised that'll change soon._

Very_, very soon._

_The wooden table was nearing a state of a complete meltdown from the weight of apathy surrounding it and everyone in the kitchen. Immortality was a fine gift in exchange for nearly going mad – every single one of the Order was in a varied state of disarray. Pampering or any modicum of hygiene was completely lost upon them, and they didn't care. They technically hadn't aged a single day, nor had they obtained any information that would make the madness stop. _

_No leads, no information, no clues, no hope, no desire to desire, no escape. Nothing, nothing, nothing nothing nothing; absolutely nothing. It was all extremely disheartening, but no one wanted to give up. They didn't want to not give up, either. It was too much effort to attempt to kill themselves instead of spending any more time pondering how to at least get out of the house without freezing to death. Wants were negligible; all there was to do was ponder and bicker and nag. They could hardly get up to sleep or do much else but conjure their own food and eat. A small bout of vertigo overtook any who attempted to even leave the safety of their chair. _

_What hope did they have? None, but they continued to think anyway. They had a place in society, even if that society was completely frozen, to them. They had to do something, even if it was trying in vain to come up with a plan. Everyone was far too lethargic to use magic for any other non-personal means, or to hex someone for getting out of line with them. They knew they had to do something, but their mental states had them convinced that the answers would come to them from thin air. Or perhaps it would come from underground, having found a way to locate their Headquarters. _

"_Hello?" a voice called. No one shifted in the slightest. _

_Chanel continued on from the parlour to the kitchen, and didn't seem the least bit surprised to see that no one was surprised to see her. She merely meandered over to the only empty chair right at the edge of the table and folded her arms, shaking her head at everyone; they were giving the person across from them a sour look, as though they were about to say something foul. _

"_This is all your fault!" Snape growled at no one, looking right past Lupin's head. "I'm completely mad and I've no one to blame but you. You, I said, you!"_

"_Oh don't blame me!" Ginny snapped at her hands upon the table. Chanel raised her eyebrow at Harry next to her who was barely discernible behind his long beard and hair._

"_Quiet," Harry grumbled while looking at everyone, Chanel included. "They'll hear us."_

"_Who will hear us, Harry? Who?"_

"_What…the hell is wrong with you all?" Chanel finally asked. Everyone's heads immediately snapped in her direction. "Finally," she sighed while they all smiled. "It smells in here, by the way. Now will someone mind answering me?"_

_No one had anything to say. Chanel sighed again and flicked her hand several times to get rid of the pungent smell about the house, to clean everyone else up, and to finally have some light in the kitchen. Everyone looked as though they didn't recognise anyone around them even though they'd all practically watched each others' hair grow to outrageous ends. A small flicker of hope gleamed in their eyes with the new lighting, and Dumbledore was the first to speak his mind about matters._

"_Please forgive us…it seems as though all this time of not having any place else to go has shaken us quite a bit."_

"_Apparently so. Don't worry about it."_

"_I thank you. But might I ask who you are…? Though I daresay you look quite familiar."_

"_Yes I'm Fleur's cousin, Chanel—"_

"_Fleur's cousin?" McGonagall asked incredulously._

"_Yes…"_

"_But I thought…"_

"_No…"_

"_I see," Snape said with a small smirk. Chanel nodded to him. "So you must know what's going on here."_

"_Yes I do. Long story short: this is Voldemort's doing. Don't blame Fleur or Hermione."_

"_But why would we?" Ginny asked. "What do they have to do with anything?"_

"_Everything."_

"_But you just said that this is Voldemort's doing," Harry pressed. Chanel almost felt sorry for him._

_And so she spent a small part of the perpetual evening explaining to the group exactly what was going on. The group was much too small, she noticed, from the stories Hermione had told her about them; they must not have made it in time. In addition to the entire story, she informed them of her plans to retaliate against the two women with the survivors as well as the Inferi that still remained after Hermione's wrath. They hadn't the time to be distraught over anything, and there was nothing to be sad over considering the news of the Charm._

"_I promise you that no one can die while they're frozen. They'll be fine as soon as I use this on them. It's just a matter of getting to people without Fleur finding me."_

"_What do you think she would do to you?" Lupin asked worriedly._

"_I don't know, and I honestly don't care," Chanel said with a wave of her hand. "If she finds me, it'll be because I wanted her to. Trust me on this. She may be godly but I have my own tricks."_

"_And what of Hermione and Fleur? What do you plan to do to keep them alive and get rid of their thirst?"_

"_That…I don't know." The hope in the room deflated ever so slightly during her pause. "I'll figure that out as I go. I never thought I'd even get this far, so I'm actually pretty optimistic about things."_

"_And what can we do to help?" Ginny asked._

"_If Fleur finds you out there…"_

"_You told us yourself that you're positive Hermione won't let Fleur out of her sights again, at least not without you."_

"_Not without me…yeah. Hey listen – I'll show you all the Charm right now, but it may take a while for you to learn it. Then I'll go back and distract Hermione for a bit while you get to as many people as you can. Can I count on someone to get underground and prep everyone down there, and find Grevet?"_

"_Sure I'll do it," Harry offered with a smile. Chanel nodded and returned the gesture as he asked his next question. "Is Grevet the person who you were looking for that showed you the charm? Who is she exactly?"_

"_My wife."_

"_Oh…but…wait…"_

"_You never got the chance to meet her correctly, but you'll recognise her when you go down there. She'll tell you everything you want to know."_

"_Right…"_

"_And Harry, do you still have that Galleon Hermione gave you in your Fifth Year? The one with the Protean Charm on it?"_

"_Y-yeah, I always have it on me." Both Harry and Ginny pulled theirs out of their pockets and Chanel nodded approvingly as she pulled one out as well._

"_I have the one Hermione made for herself. She said she didn't need it anymore and decided to give it to me. I'll signal you both when things are ready to go."_

"_Those are rather interesting coins," Snape commented._

"_Don't worry about what they were made for, please," Chanel warned. "Just let me show you this charm so we can get started on reversing this mess."_

_Right at the altar where we said our vows in the Forgotten City, I finally remembered what it felt like to _feel _again. Endless chestnut locks along her strong back keeping my arms and hands bound to her made me want to forget it all. Even though I was taller than her, I still felt like I was always seeking protection in her arms while we slow danced for no reason. And even though it's technically been over fifty years, I'd never forget _this_. _

_Damn me for forgetting her, even if it wasn't my fault. Damn me instead of Voldemort for letting me forget this woman I love in exchange for a bloodlust._

_And Damn Fleur and Hermione for being too fucking greedy. They robbed me of a lifetime, even though, should I choose to not end this, I may have her for an eternity. I don't want that... Not if it means having to thank _them.

"_Promise me," she told me, "promise me you'll tell them the truth, leave, and come right back here. If you won't let me go with you, at least do this much for me." _

_Her voice still sounded as deep and soothing and throaty as I remembered. It sounded like she spoke from right underneath her tongue. I didn't realise how much I missed her tongue, mind you. She reminded me before I could say anything back. My memory of her is as cloudy as the vague semblance of her that you probably have in your mind. _

_Why describe her any more? Why go into detail? She's absolutely beautiful – that's all you need to know. Besides, I really was in the right state of mind ages ago before I found her. So why am I questioning that? Because she's trembling in my arms right now? Ragged breathing? Why?_

_It's not a question of why me, why me – it's her. It's always been about her, so of course I'd forgotten her._

"_Oh I will, don't worry. I'd never break a promise to you."_

"_You don't seem nervous about this at all… Why now? Why can't you wait a bit…spend some more time with me before you go?"_

"_Hey, listen. This is my mess and I'm going to clean it up. I just—"_

"_Something's wrong with you."_

"_What are you talking about?" Maybe she was doing me a favour by not pulling away to look me in the face. _

"_Your whole life's always been about your cousin. You felt like a failure for not finding her when she was younger, and once you did find her, you devoted your whole life to her. Why do you have to do this…?"_

"_I don't even know what_ this_ is. I'm just going to talk some sense into her with the truth. She'll snap out of it."_

"_And what is the truth? That you've been plotting against her?"_

"_What else can I do? It'll shake her foundations, you know? Besides, Fleur would never…"_

"_You know."_

"_I know, I know – you're tired of hearing her name, hearing me talk about her, even though you understand completely. But Grevet, maybe if she hates me I'll stop obsessing over her. Maybe if she thinks she can't trust me, I'll never have to go back there, _and_ she'll be expecting the war. It's only fair game to warn her that I've had her going all this time."_

"…_can we just stop…talking about her…?"_

"_Yes…but…I know we started to grow apart once I latched into Hermione for any tidbits about Fleur I could get. It was wrong of me, ethically, to do that as her Therapist. I know you actually spoke up and warned me about it and I ignored you. The third strike was when Fleur was released and I practically kicked you out because I didn't want you to be around her. Hermione's stories and information on Fleur really did drug me. It was Voldemort's doing. That damned kiss in the Atrium…but you already know all of that."_

_She was still silent. Vocally, anyway. I was horrible at this kind of thing, but I still felt a need to keep speaking. She deserved that much._

"_I, um…well…" A pause… "I don't know…what the hell I'm doing… I'm not sure if it seems like I have all of the answers, but I don't. I don't. To everyone else, I'm sure it seems like I do…I know Harry and Ginny both look up to me. Even the rest of the Order have all their hopes in me; they sat in one house for years, thinking, and _they _had the nerve to deem them all a threat. Everyone understands that I'm doing this for you, so of course I ought to have all the answers, right…?_

"_The only answer I have is that I know I owe you everything. Everything in the world, no matter how cold it is – you deserve it. I want…to change the world for you. I'll change it back. I don't want to live in a world eternally where everywhere I look I'm reminded of what…I've done to you… I can't. I just can't… Even…if I was with you…I could never forget. I'd rather die than be reminded of my loss of perspective, and what I've done to you. Sure you could say none of this is my fault, but I didn't fix the chamber… I didn't listen to you about anything. Even after all you've done for me, I blew you off with the excuse that you were boring me._

"_I'm not myself anymore… You still burn my very core and set me off with as little as a sigh, but I'm not the same person you married right here all those years ago. I don't feel as though I'm as close to you emotionally as I should be. I want to be with you, but if I for some reason couldn't be…I don't think I'd take it that badly. That scares me… And you suffered alone…now I want revenge. You're harmless, so understanding, so affectionate, loving, and devoted to me. After all I've done, I feel like I don't deserve you anymore. Maybe I can redeem myself by fixing all of this…_if _I can. But even though I'm uncertain of everything but my love for you, I promise I'll change this. For you._

"_And… I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for forgetting you, for being so obsessed with these two, and for…for not giving you the life you deserve. I vowed that I'd be nothing short of everything you needed, but I…couldn't be that for you. I let my despair consume me, even with my insides screaming that I had hope in my home the entire time. I'm sorry..._

"_But more than anything, I'm sorry that I have such a hard time telling you this…still... I love you."_

"So what brings you here looking as though you're ready to kill?" Fleur asked her cousin with a smile as they walked about the castle. Chanel was still scowling. Deeply.

"Are Ron and Draco still here?"

"Yes they are. I'll take you to them – they're in a room just down this hall."

"I need to speak with them alone."

"Certainly. Might we be able to catch up once you're done?"

"Yes, that was another reason I came here. The third was to speak with Hermione alone."

"I assume she's already gone to the throne room to await your arrival."

"Wonderful," Chanel said flatly just as they reached the quarters. "Wait here, I'll be right out."

"Of course—"

Fleur was rather surprised at her cousin's sudden embrace. It wasn't rough or too weak of a hold, but still rather affectionate coming from Chanel of all people. They stayed that way for a long time, with Fleur wondering exactly what was going on, though still grateful for the affections nonetheless. Though just as soon as she pondered this, her cousin pulled away and swept into Ron and Draco's room without a word or backwards glance.

"_I'm _sorry, could you repeat that once more? What the _hell _did you tell her about me?"

"It was nothin' but a load of rubbish, I swear it! Complete n-nonsense! If you'd seen the way she was looking at me you'd've lied your arse off too!"

Draco was a useless heap of mess on the floor while Chanel towered over him, staring him down while Ron was upon his bed with his face in his hands. While she was hoping to reveal her intentions, she had hoped that Hermione hadn't been tipped off before she could get to her. She already had no idea what she was doing as it was, and being angry was all she could do to not show how terribly dishevelled she was about matters.

"You basically told her that I'm up to something."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"…which I am."

"I'm sorry, I'm…! Wait…what? But…b-but…how? And when? Are we gonna get out of this mess?"

"I don't know, Draco…but I planned to tell Hermione everything sincerely so that we could establish a bond again, to make her think that I'm not doing anything anymore. But now I can't do that. If I tell her you were lying, you're dead."

"Just wha' exactly are you up to?" Ron mumbled from behind his hands, looking at Chanel incredulously.

"Can you explain what's happened to you both first? Hermione had you locked up for ages and now you're up here in this huge ass room?"

"It took us about as long as she had us locked up to shave and clean our filthy selves," Draco groaned. Ron nodded in agreement. "You shoulda _seen _us. _And _Hermione. She looked at us like we were shit up until I started babblin' about you. How could I not lie 'n save ourselves?"

"We'd've gone way more mental 'n we already are if we stayed down there one more night," Ron explained. "Malfoy sure sounded like 'e lost a few screws up there."

"Shut it, Weaselbee. Point is, Chanel's back and she really is on our side…whatever the hell _that _even means these days. We don't even know what the hell's goin' on. Fleur came and explained everything, yeah, but what's with her clothes? She looks damn sexy, but what the hell, you know?"

"Draco, listen," Chanel sighed. "You and Ron need to get out of here. I'm having reinforcements come to destroy this place and the Inferi that Hermione snatched from my control."

"How many does she have…?"

"…all of them."

"WHAT?"

"I can't control everything…I'm making up for it right now. That Charm I put on you will keep you safe so you can Apparate once you get outside. Go to Headquarters and do what Harry says."

"All right," Ron mumbled. "But really, what the hell is goin' on? Hermione 'n Fleur are the bad guys?"

"I don't know, Ron! Just…just get the hell out of here."

"What are you going to do?" Draco asked worriedly.

"I'm going to tell them the truth. I'll try and talk some sense into them, and snap them out of this."

"Oh you women," Draco scoffed. "Always thinking that talking things out will solve everything. How's talking supposed to help? They're ultra powerful if you hadn't noticed!"

"Will you shut up? At least I _have _a fucking plan! And for _your_ information, I'm not doing _any_ of this for you! I'm doing you a_ favour_ by telling you to get the fuck out of here!"

"…shit, all right, all right…sorry. I'm sorry, Chanel… We'll go…thank you. I'm…I'm sorry for being such a prat."

"Yeah…we're sorry. You must be stressed from all this…what with no one helpin' you for the longest. Thanks a million…" Ron said quietly. Chanel calmed down slightly and nodded. "But…who're you doin' this for…?"

"My…_wife _that I'd _forgotten_ about because of _these two_ and _Voldemort._ I'll see you later," Chanel huffed as she crossed the room to leave. A crack in her voice may have been heard; the men weren't sure.

"Later…" Ron and Draco deadpanned just as the door slammed behind her.

"Fleur, listen to me," Chanel began as the two resumed their walk. Fleur was smiling coolly, watching her cousin patiently. "There are a lot of things I never got around to telling you. I've been a horrible older cousin to you."

"Nonsense," Fleur said nonchalantly. Chanel resumed her scowling. "You're the greatest cousin anyone could ever ask for. You're amazing—"

"Stop… Don't…don't say that."

The two stopped in their tracks just as they reached the bridge to the master bedroom. Chanel looked over the jagged violet rock that the bridge was made out of, trying to remember exactly when ululations could be heard from down below. She looked up to the gray clouds above, back down to where the moans were coming from, and finally back to Fleur who merely shrugged.

"Decoration," she said simply as she made a general gesture about their surroundings. "The moans of agony are simply eargasmic, are they not?"

"No, Fleur. No. Who are they?"

"The Inferi that Hermione no longer needed. Or, better yet, the ones that refused to succumb to her control. The other million are still dead and well. You don't like the décor?"

"_No_, I said."

"Chanel, what's gotten into you? And why don't you want me to call you amazing—"

"Only she can."

"Who, Hermione?—"

"_No, _not Hermione. The world doesn't fucking revolve around her, Fleur. It revolves around _my _wife."

"Your…wife…?" Fleur already looked taken aback from Chanel's comment about Hermione; her cousin's obvious rage was finally starting to make her uneasy.

"Grevet, Fleur. Grevet! Grevet, Grevet, _Grevet! _Don't you remember meeting another woman who lived with me? I'd forgotten about her because of you…"

"No I don't remember any Grevet," Fleur said confrontationally. "Don't try and lie to me just to give me a guilt trip. I know what you're up to."

"What the hell am I up to, cousin dearest?" Chanel asked loudly, making sure to put her face as close to Fleur's as possible. "What could I _possibly _be up to? Plotting to overthrow your chess board?"

"My chess board…?"

"Hermione's the Queen and you're a mere pawn, Fleur! Don't you see? That was _me _talking in your bedroom just now and you completely agreed with me! This is all about strategy if you hadn't noticed."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No, Fleur – I'm asking what you'd like for supper – of _course _I'm threatening you! How can you look me in the eye and tell me you forgot about Grevet?"

"You're just lying to me! You dare say the world doesn't revolve around my Hermione! Let me clear things up for you Chanel – they do! I can _kill _you _right now_ if I wanted to—"

"You wouldn't dare," Chanel hissed with a sneer. Fleur fell silent. "_You'd_ kill your only family just because I insulted your only piece of ass for an eternity? Nice try. And my fucking _God_ Fleur, don't you get tired of her? Having to deal with one person for an eternity is pure hell! You're delusional, I swear!"

"So what if I am?" Fleur screeched. "I don't care! She deserves this for having to be alone for four years! _I _deserve this for having my identity ripped away from me! So I don't give a _DAMN _what you say; _I _am her Knight and there is _nothing _you could possibly tell me to top any of this—"

"Fifty years, Fleur. This has been going on for fifty. Mother. Fucking. Years. And you know who kept track of 'time'? My WIFE. Grevet did. She's been waiting for me to find her for fifty…_years. _This ENTIRE time you and Hermione have been together and happy, I've been searching for someone I didn't even know I was looking for! Instinct! ALL instinct! Being dead's fucked with my head!"

"What…? Chanel, wait…please…"

"No! Why would I lie about something like this? You know I never get emotional! _Women _are emotional creatures, but no, not me! I never cared about bringing you down before – at least not enough, anyway. What justification did I have? To restore the world's natural temperature and save everyone else? Fuck that! It's all because of _you _that I'm not living a _normal _life with my wife right now! You and Hermione are too fucking greedy, you hear me! Four years is _nothing _compared to fifty! **NOTHING**. Add two years before that of her being practically invisible to me and you're lucky I'm not making you burn in hell right now! You _had _your revenge and now _I _want mine!"

Fleur watched helplessly as her cousin fled back inside, clearly en route to the throne room. She instead continued along the bridge, feeling an emotion that she hadn't felt in an excruciatingly long time – guilt. Chanel would never lose her composure unless she was telling the complete truth. Hermione really was right in believing that she was up to something.

Heels continued to click against the smooth violet surface of the overpass, and the ululations from below finally began to stop. Fleur ran a hand through her hair, next taking a moment to run two digits along the blonde feather atop her head as she contemplated everything. She observed her regal attire, the thrall exuding from her, where she was – she wanted all of this but never once thought of it as greed. Hermione went along with it for the greed with love. Was it greed or was it a creed they had with each other that made them do this? Repercussions were ignored. Chanel wasn't even taken into consideration once Hermione made her move.

But who was more important? Hermione or Chanel? She couldn't say both anymore. Something began to change about the hue perfumed about her as she continued to think alone.

A gentle tapping of talons were heard against the gold, and the occasional shifting of jewellery as she moved her head about ever so slightly out of boredom. Scoping the darkness and sheets of transparent light was terribly uneventful, but she knew that she was on her way. Fleur's emotions were unreadable to her at the present time, as they had been for quite some time now, and this worried her. Russet continued to pierce the darkness and nuances of light about her in her irritation that Chanel was taking so long. A confession was bound to present itself; there was simply the fact of the matter as to whether it was worth it to punish her.

"My lady," a voice said to her right. Hermione's gaze snapped upwards to a smirk upon _that _face. She didn't even notice Chanel's hand that was extended. "Would you care to dance?"

"There's no music," Hermione said smartly with a glare.

"Our dialogue shall be all the melody we need, Your Majesty. Besides, I think you know what's coming, and I'd like to share it with you in a civilised fashion."

Hermione sniffed at Chanel's pleasantry and lifted her wrist first to place her palm in the one extended out to her; good humour clearly ran in the family if Fleur was any measure. Chanel helped Hermione to her feet and placed her free hand upon a black satin waist, smirking even more at the sight of talons pirouetting just by her face as a hand settled upon her shoulder.

Black on black effortlessly fell into a very slow waltz, neither woman saying anything for quite some time. It was an old joke they had years ago that, whenever they went clubbing, to randomly waltz to upbeat songs just to cheer Hermione up. Their old friends called it dancing mad because they were obviously mad to be taking up space like that on the dance floor just to burst out in hysterics at the dirty and confused looks thrown at them. Hermione was evidently remembering said joke, and her scowl slowly vanished just as Chanel's smirk did.

She observed Chanel's bare shoulders and arms, her black leather vest, the long shorts, her sheet of blonde, and the sides of her face next to her russet eyes above her own – they all seemed so stressed. Very young and flawless, but she still sensed a gratuitous amount of trauma in the air about her. Her eyes above seemed vaster than she remembered; much deeper, experienced, and slightly troubled. She was still so very beautiful, but something was off, despite the strength she was still exuding despite the barely-visible anxiety.

"Chanel…"

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Oh stop the formalities…I simply have a question for you."

"I have an answer."

"Are you…able to fly? Like Fleur?"

"You mean with one wing?"

"Yes…"

"I am. I've only tried it once, though."

"What colour is your wing?"

"Black of course. It's feathery and large just like Fleur's is, except mine is on my right side. You can't fly, can you?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Though I suppose I compensate for it by being much more powerful than Fleur."

"You mean magic-wise?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"It's just a feeling. I can sense that I am…I'm good at sensing things."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really. Like right now, I can sense that you almost match her in strength."

"So I'm no match for you, huh?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Damn. That gets rid of my plans."

"I've a feeling that snuffing me out right here was never part of your plans."

"You're good at this. And I guess you can also _feel _that I came here to get a few things off my chest, hm?"

"That's right. So, go on – out with it. I'm in a good mood."

"Oh good. Because I'm not. I've been miserable all this time, you know. I don't appreciate it."

"So you have been plotting to overthrow me."

"Yes. And do you know why?"

"No I don't know _why—"_

"Because you're a fucking tyrant, Hermione."

Chanel and Hermione stopped their waltz and glared at one another, not moving from their positions. A very distorted ringing was emanating from them both, however subtle it was, but they both chose to ignore it. Darkness began to melt into a thicker shade of black, engulfing them in a shadow with only blonde and jewellery to make them stand out from anything.

"Haven't you been dreaming of this day, night, whatever this is?" Chanel sneered, ignoring the small pain in her shoulder from Hermione's talons digging in her skin. "Are you happy, Hermione? Happy to be in this pan-demonic castle of Pandemonium? You're a Queen of nobodies – me, Fleur, and yourself. Everyone else is frozen."

"What have you done?" Hermione hissed, her conviction reverberating about the darkness as she dug her nails into Chanel's skin ever more.

"I'm declaring _war _on you. You don't stand a chance against me. I've resources that you could only dream of. They'll be here soon. And they're coming right…about…now."

Chanel rubbed her hand on Hermione's waist, smirking at her surprise of the unusual warmth against her, shaped in the form of a coin. Morbid understanding covered her features as she looked back up at Chanel, angrily agape at the sneer upon her face.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm taking you down and this castle to go along with you."

"You wouldn't. No… You wouldn't dare!"

"Look at you, Hermione. You're not yourself! Where has your intuition gone, your sense of self? You honestly had no idea that I was luring you into a trap by biding your time like this?"

"What have I ever done to you to turn you against me? So what if I've changed? This is absolutely ridiculous! I _trusted _you!"

"Don't you remember Grevet?"

"Your…your wife?"

"Yes, yes, very good! My wife! I've finally found her after all this _time, _and you started all of this mess just because you could never be satisfied with what you had! You're pathetic!"

"Don't you dare defy me like this! Let me go you traitor!"

"No! I'm going to make you snap out of this no matter what it takes! And if I don't do it, then Fleur will. I know she's on my side; she knows that she was wrong for being greedy."

"Hmph…Fleur won't do a thing you say. She's _my _Knight."

"What makes you so sure she won't bring you down? Even if it's not today or this _year_, she _will. _I swear it!"

"I will, hm?"

Chanel didn't even have to ask for confirmation before finally letting Hermione go. She couldn't feel the pain in her shoulder as she pocketed the Galleon Hermione had given her so long ago, not even looking her in the eye as she turned to face Fleur who was just across the room, sitting languidly in the shadows. The outline of her thrall was very apparent, as were her eyes. Crimson was there, a kind of mist in Fleur's azures, and Chanel had no time to evaluate the magnitude of her mistake before feeling a large tremor; everyone else had already arrived.

She could barely register Hermione yelling at Fleur to do something, anything, to punish. Chanel subconsciously turned to face Hermione, remembering what she came there hoping to do, and extended her palms to envelop her in a large combustion, strangely smirking at her outcry of pain. The room was set ablaze just as Hermione fell to the ground shouting and Fleur bolted to her feet to douse Hermione first. Another, stronger quaver and Chanel was fleeing yet again while her cousin was distracted, with Fleur soon right after her in a fit of indefatigable rage.


	13. maelstrom

**A/N **– Hey, I'm here, finishing this story after four years, originally published May 17th, 2009… I don't have the same passion for this pairing as I did before, so I won't be writing any new stories about them. I have my other reasons as well. I promised myself I'd finish this very confusing story, so here is the end all compressed into one short chapter. I'd planned to drag all of this out over six chapters, but…no. This is enough.

.

_my sesquipedalian soliloquy, to whom this was  
and still is for, notoriously so:  
how you drove me to such lengths, in angst, in passion;  
those shadows follow me to this day, though we pass, though we do not greet..  
soon to be married – do you hear this? _

_i've finished this.  
it is gone  
disintegrated, but never thrown away._

_the ashes still burn though the fire has long since gone. Remember this rage you've given me  
in your fear to never  
ever  
revisit it, or the truth that you ran from me and spurred this hatred of my own capacity to love._

_it is such that it reaches to this day, limiting me, my throes, my crafts…not anymore.  
it is destroyed, now, in this maelstrom – you no longer have that power._

_**xiii. **__maelstrom_

Through to the heights, through to the brink of the stars in the frozen sky, one wing beat and flapped with the full force of her fury, keeping Fleur in the air after her target. Higher she went, in a direction she knew not or cared for; flew, she did, for so long, so high, so fast, she could not keep track of her memory—slipping away.

The longer she tracked the flaps of her cousin's black wing, the less she _felt_. The more distance she put between Hermione and herself, the quicker she realised the language of her errors. Years, years, and years of needing an order to follow, needing a love to nourish culminated into this moment. She looked down. They flew over London, over the tragedies her anguish had brought about: frozen bodies scattered along the unlit streets, awake, but unable to cry out for help. These streets, she recognised them—they held meaning to her, having returned after years-long slumber. It was there that she took the first steps toward assuming a role where she could protect Hermione.

The conscience that had her argue with Tom Riddle himself nearly fifty years ago returned at long last.

When her cousin began to descend to the empty street of Grimmauld Place, Fleur followed, without the rage that had her take flight to begin with. When Fleur landed, Chanel turned to her with an offering.

"You remember," said Chanel, handing the white, stuffed otter to her. "I knew you would soon."

Fleur held in her arms the first and only Christmas gift Hermione had ever given her. "You make a compelling argument…" She sighed into Noel's fur; her clothes changed, to the casual white shirt and black and white trainers that marked her vulnerability, her mortality. "Hermione only had to wait for four years… Only four, and look at what we've done. Your wife waited for far longer, without the comfort of knowing that you remembered her."

Her cousin gestured for Fleur to follow behind. "I didn't have Voldemort in my head the way you did, trying to tell me what to do," she pointed out. "Here—you know where we are, don't you?"

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," whispered Fleur, as Chanel opened the entrance. "Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix…"

Ancient flooring and walls held the interior of the building together. The wood beneath her thin soles of her shoes creaked as she walked. The first time she entered this aging home belonging to the Black family, she'd been full of resolve to go against the expectations of her Slytherin classmates. She chose to join the Order, to serve, to protect not only the world, but Hermione from the Dark Lord. Hermione had not been so prevalent at the time when making this decision, yet she had to have been there, somewhere.

And as she entered the parlour with Chanel, seeing a number of fellow members there waiting for her, she could not deny that she'd made a terrible mistake in allowing all of this to happen.

"You're back to normal!" said Draco, looking much better than he had before. "Can't deny those old clothes of yours. Tell us you're subdued, now, aren't you?"

Fleur nodded; she ran her hand through her shimmering hair, no longer feeling that feather atop her head. "I'm all right," she told everyone, observing those in the room.

Draco, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Snape, McGonagall, and Lupin were all there, each relieved in their own ways that Fleur had retained control over her mind and self. Fleur could not maintain eye contact with any of them for very long. She went to the fireplace, standing with her back to them. The fire somehow managed to burn through the persistent cold. The fire she harbored in her heart for Hermione…it had dimmed, and dulled, and drained.

Voldemort could no longer feed off of those flames. They were gone, for she knew Hermione was herself no longer. She could not feel love for the impostor sitting upon the throne in Pandemonium.

"Um, h-hey, Fleur," tried Ron, approaching her. "You said you're all right, but you don't look so good. There somethin'…you wanna get off your chest or…anything? No need to prove that you're _you _this time—it's plain as day, in case that's what's eatin' you…"

She felt nothing. Clean slate, emotionless, reborn: Fleur felt little else other than complacency.

"Whatever drove me to do this," she began, "Is no longer within me. I have no drive, no ambition to do anything except stand here and watch this fire burn. You're free to go defeat Hermione if you so please. I won't stop you."

Draco made a sound between amusement and horror. "That's cold," he said. "You don't care anymore?"

"It's better than being too emotionally involved with a tyrant. That woman, that _thing _on the throne will not affect me anymore. Nothing will."

Snape stepped forward, wand drawn. "And how are we to know you are a puppet no longer?" he asked.

Fleur felt the pressure within her mind, of a Legillimens—_Snape_, perhaps Lupin as well. "Go ahead and probe my thoughts, if you must," she said, monotone, without using her Occlumency to keep them out of her head. "I won't bother stopping you. Search all you want. If you find any trace of Voldemort, you are free to hit me with a Killing Curse. I'm tired of this…"

"Apathy. The Dark Lord cannot channel anything through that emotion," noted Snape, lowering his wand. "It seems you've returned to your old stoic self, Delacour. _Before _the possession, mind you. Back when you were just a misunderstood young girl who understood not why she'd been forced to kill her family…"

"I wonder," said McGonagall, wary, "If you're experiencing a strong case of schizophrenia. Perhaps manic depression? It would benefit us all if we could diagnose you…"

Their voices stopped. Fleur continued to stare at the fire. Did she deserve death, for doing this? For recreating the world in the image of her sins… No, she decided, she didn't deserve death. Having those passions removed from her was punishment enough. She felt dead already, as frozen as her victims, able to see and think and breathe in this prison of living death.

That was enough. She deserved this. She would simply stand in place and do nothing, as punishment for going too many places and doing far too much. Until she was needed elsewhere, this would do.

When they spoke again, they began planning a way to put an end to Hermione's reign. Fleur heard her name a number of times. She did not turn to acknowledge this. They spoke of her being the only one who could defeat Hermione—the only one who _truly _knew her enough to exploit her weaknesses. As if Hermione had weaknesses, the impostor that she was… Her only weakness was how mad she became whenever they were separated. Perhaps she knew that, one day, Fleur would see her for the fraud she was and come to these very conclusions—this state of being.

It would be better if Hermione never remembered this—if no one could remember. The latter was impossible, however appealing. It would require far too many Memory Charms. Yet the ones frozen would remember nothing from their imprisonment if she could reverse everything—that would suffice, for them. Perhaps then, Hermione could move on from this. If Hermione could return to normal, and not remember this madness, she could resume her life without worry.

.

The goal of seeing Hermione happy and healthy again kept Fleur walking through this world that never was—and never would be again. Disillusioned, the Order followed her—her cousin had left, to find the rest of the missing members, and to dispose of any Inferi still lingering about. Fleur held Noel in her arms, trying and trying to _feel _again. She could not; she could sense or perceive little else but the ground beneath her feet. Her surroundings had nearly vanished. Whatever majestic detail they held was lost upon her.

When she reached the castle, she traveled on auto-pilot to the long bridge of the Keep leading to their bedroom. _Time _passed by her along her walk, yet not through her, unaffecting. Each memory she recalled of Hermione _before _this did nothing for her. She could not smile, could not frown or laugh or cry or grow angry over anything at all.

She found Hermione on the centre of the bridge. Hermione watched Fleur's approach, likely unable to sense those invisible behind her.

"What are these garments you wear?" demanded Hermione. "Where is your cousin? Did you dispose of her for betraying us?" When Fleur's expression did not change; when Fleur did not kneel before her or show any sign of respect, Hermione went into a fit of rage. "What is _wrong _with you?!"

Fleur offered Noel to her. "He's missed you," she said.

Hermione smacked the toy otter away, sending him bouncing the ground. "Am I supposed to care about some stuffed _object_?" she asked, shrilly. Fleur bent down to pick him up, staying on one knee. Hermione took the motion as an appeasement. "Fleur…all I ask is that you answer my questions. Do not provoke me further."

"It is not my aim to provoke you," said Fleur. She procured her wand and set it down at Hermione's feet. "I concede. Everything, all of this madness, I concede to you. I cannot go on like this anymore. I don't love you, what you've become. This ends here."

A long time passed, with Hermione only staring down at Fleur in silent shock. It all felt too easy. Hermione was weakened considerably by this admission. The Order—as predicted—proceeded to launch a flurry of spells at Hermione, felling her without death. All that _time_…and all she'd needed to do was wake up to everything. Without her cousin's influence, she could not have reached this place on her own. _What was it all for…?_

Fleur stood up, watching for a moment as Hermione's appearance, too, returned to normal. In Hermione's place, Tom Riddle returned.

"Simple…wasn't it?" he asked, as the world began to shift; to melt. Fleur held out her hand behind her, signaling for her allies to wait. "Has the nihilism come to replace your previous fervour now? Has your stoicism come to your defence against these changes?"

Fleur said nothing in response. She expected Tom to grow angry, to demand answers from her…yet he did not. He did not continue the conversation, instead regarding her much differently than he had before. As the castle dissolved, as the freeze lifted, as _normal _returned, Tom Riddle stared back at Fleur with a great deal of respect.

_For you once held great power, and you were wise enough to know when it had consumed you. You were smart enough to know…when to walk away, when it was no longer worth the toiling necessary to maintain it. Though you've lost yourself—those passions that once drove you to such length—perhaps never to find them again. _

_Know this: at least you had a choice. You knew when to stop everything. You knew when and how to have your charge do the same. I have lived this, vicariously through you, Fleur. I have lived this power, felt this power, known this power, and realised the mark at which it was necessary to toss it aside. That knowledge is invaluable. It is all I can hope for in this state I am in, as this thing I've become…_

_Your growths mirrored mine. I knew when to let you go. But I have taken with me all from you—enough, to ensure you'll not repeat this mistake. You will maintain your immortality—you have found that, and I cannot take it from you. It is a living prison, as you believe. Ensure that none take your throne from you._

_As for Hermione…it is up to you to decide what to do with her._

.

A number of months passed before all resumed as normal. The sun could shine again, the populace could _live _and thrive again—they could go on. The world went on, with no recollection of the madness that had overpowered it for but half a century. The students of Hogwarts were also none the wiser, resuming classes, finding friends again, returning to their routines, without _knowing _anything at all. Ignorance kept the world in its embrace, save for a select few.

In the corner of the Hospital Wing, Fleur leaned against the wall with her arms folded. A few students and staff passed through on that afternoon, paying her little mind save for the few ogles and stares. They all knew her as the representative from the Order of the Phoenix, tasked with protecting the castle from harm. They knew she was a former student who had graduated with honors, with specialties in Charms and Herbology. They knew she did not enjoy being spoken to or even so much as being looked at. That was all. Any mention of her time in the Sorceress' Memorial was not made—it was possible this, too, had been forgotten by the Wizarding World. She didn't care to know either way.

On the other side of the room, Hermione began to stir in her bed. Students also knew Hermione as an excellent former student who had been present on the night of Voldemort's defeat. Some associated her as part of the Golden Trio, with Harry and Ron, both of whom came to visit from time to time, having moved on with their lives. Those who'd been present with her on the bridge still remembered. Her cousin, wherever she was, still remembered.

And yet Hermione did not. The last thing she seemed to recall was Ron asking her out in the Gryffindor Common Room. She had no recollection of going to search for Fleur in that field of flowers.

Fleur snuck out of the Hospital Wing, to avoid being seen by Hermione. She could not face her like this, _knowing _so much, knowing Hermione knew so little. Students in the halls went about their business, occasionally stopping to stare as she walked past. She exited the castle to the grounds, on her way to the field of flowers behind one of the greenhouses.

When she stopped before the amassment of flowers, she found the same one that had started everything. The same flower whose thorns had pricked her skin, poisoning her, beginning her vertigo…

"Fleur?"

She turned around, finding Hermione there staring up at her. Hermione appeared meek, apologetic as she pulled at her fingers, struggling to find something to say. Fleur waited, feeling much like she used to in Hermione's presence in their school days—detached, distant…

"Fleur, I… I came… I came to talk…to you… I realise that after all these years, the only thing you've ever said to me is _I concede. _I…seem to have forgotten about that. So can we…can we start over…? I'm sorry for judging you and for…for talking about you behind your back and…everything. I'd like it if we could…be friends. I'm so sorry… Friends…?"

Hermione's hand shook as she held it out in front of her. Fleur took a deep breath; she did not think before shaking Hermione's hand, lingering. She did not let go, seeing that youthful, oblivious emotion swelling in Hermione's eyes. Instead, she held Hermione in her arms amid the afternoon breeze blowing the flowers all around them. She allowed Hermione to cry on her shoulder over what she believed was guilt for treating her so badly over the _seven _years they'd known one another in school.

One day, Fleur would love her again. One day, without the vertigo, without the madness…

_Reincarnation, second chances, and a new life with the knowledge to avoid mistakes. This was what Hermione deserved—what Fleur could give to her. _


End file.
